


Secrets & Keepers - Entropy

by Maud Greyluck (MauraMaudJadeit)



Series: Secrets & Keepers [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Black Family Feels (Harry Potter), Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Good Slytherins, Identity Issues, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Multi, Profanity, Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:00:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 61,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28092054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MauraMaudJadeit/pseuds/Maud%20Greyluck
Summary: Harry & Hermione learn that as weird as everything become in the aftermath of learning devastating news is that the life actually goes on. There’s a Dark Lord to destroy, a manipulative Headmaster to overthrow, family bonds and new friendships to establish and old ones to maintain. A direct sequel to Secrets & Keepers - Collision Course and Secrets & Keepers  - Supernova.
Relationships: Arcturus Black III/Melania Macmillan Black, Bathsheda Babbling/Severus Snape, Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks
Series: Secrets & Keepers [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1362331
Comments: 83
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or anything you can recognise from any books or TV series or movies. I do however take liberties with the plots or mentions provided by JKR or other writers. The only profit I'm getting out of it is improving my English.
> 
> **Title:** Secrets & Keepers – Entropy
> 
> **Rating/Warnings: R/M** [AU; Manipulative Dumbledore (therefore not Dumbledore friendly); profanity; canon typical violence; frank discussion of past child abuse (Harry but not only) and of past child abuse of sexual nature (not Harry); not very detailed descriptions of torture (not Harry); Black family feels; identity crisis; pureblood politics; good Slytherins]
> 
> **Characters and pairings:** Harry Potter, Sirius Black, Regulus Black, Severus Snape, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Bathsheda Babbling. As well as Hermione Granger, Arcturus Black, Larry Lawrence (OC) and Josephine Turner (OC). The rest of characters will appear as the story progresses.
> 
> All adults are more or less paternal towards Harry or grandfatherly towards Hermione as well as generally friendly or at the very least civil towards each other once they sort out their differences.
> 
> References to past and present relationship of sexual nature between Snape and Babbling. Occasional mentions of one sided Sirius/James, not one sided Sirius/OFC (the woman of many names). Contains mentions of Remus/Tonks, eventual allusions to Larry/Josephine and background Arcturus/Melania. No Harry or Hermione pairings because they have a lot on their plates and won’t have time for teenage nonsenses for a longer while (at the very least through PoA timeline).
> 
> **Spoilers:** All seven books with occasional, brief references to ground work for HP & CC main plot as well as **Secrets & Keepers – Collision Course** and **Secrets & Keepers – Supernova**.
> 
> **Summary:** Harry & Hermione learn that as weird as everything become in the aftermath of learning devastating news is that the life actually goes on. There’s a Dark Lord to destroy, a manipulative Headmaster to overthrow, family bonds and new friendships to establish and old ones to maintain. Direct sequel to S&K - Collision Course and S&K - Supernova.
> 
> **Word count:** Steadily increasing.
> 
> **Author's note:** This story will make very little sense to anyone who hadn’t read **both** Secrets & Keepers – Collision Course and Secrets & Keepers – Supernova. The reading order doesn’t matter as both exist in their own private bubbles that don’t affect the other. Chronologically Supernova starts way earlier than Collision Course but both of them conclude on the same day. If someone prefers writing order then Collision Course was written prior to Supernova. This story will contain spoilers to both and will liberally include and reference characters and information learned in prior instalments. Because I’m a generous soul who wants to give some of the readers that read Collision Course but hadn’t read Supernova time to catch up chapter one will only contain the crowd from Collision Course.
> 
> **Posted on Tuesdays, starting from 15th December 2020.**
> 
> **Beta read by Regnbuen (Nitraz).**
> 
> _Dedicated to Nitraz and everyone who came so far to learn how the story ends._

_Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed people can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has._

_~Margaret Meade_

_We cross our bridges when we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and a presumption that once our eyes watered._

_~Tom Stoppard_

**Secrets & Keepers – Entropy**

**Chapter one: Burying The Dead**

_Severus Snape, 8_ _th_ _August 1993, 12 Grimmauld Place, London._

If someone had told him yesterday that tomorrow he would be having a breakfast with Sirius Black on remotely civil terms he would have hexed their arses off. Yet, there he was, seated at the long table in the kitchen sampling a multitude of cheeses, hams and three kinds of eggs. Black himself was seated at the high end of the table, flanked by his undead brother and Potter. The boy himself looked pale and morose, and was picking at the food, which Black had been steadily dropping on his plate.

Not that Severus blamed him. It was a miracle that after learning that he was the Dark Lord's Horcrux he didn't have a full mental break down. And as loath as Severus was to admit that it was thanks to Black and his assurance that he wouldn't rest until he would find a way to fix it. Potter didn't appear to be completely convinced but at the very least wasn't crying and even managed to put some food in his mouth.

The rest of the merry bunch of idiots, Bathsheda included, seated themselves between Black the Undead and Potter and busied themselves with tucking in their own breakfasts. Severus, not wanting to stand out too much seated himself by Bathsheda, not that he was in the mood for that.

She lied to him, granted mostly by omission but it didn't change the fact. Not that she owed him anything. No, their mutual score of who was owed more to whom was still skewed in her favour and most likely would always remain as such. Not that he didn't plan to air his grievances with her, he did, but he planned to do so in private.

The breakfast itself was a quiet affair with everyone busied with their own plates and cups, disturbed only by requests to pass something from one end of the table to the other.

Severus, busy with his own meal observed them. Black Senior for all of the heaping various stuff on his plate actually ate very little, he was quite keen to smuggle his tomatoes and sausages to Potter who after some time had passed, picked up on what Black was doing and started dropping his eggs and mushrooms on Black's plate.

Lupin and Tonks, seated next to Potter were busy with sampling everything that was on the table, Lupin predominantly was more interested in meat while Tonks was devouring one pancake after another with the most ridiculous toppings imaginable.

Bathsheda was dreadfully boring with her own eggs on toasts with fried mushrooms on the side and tomato salad, occasionally she nibbled on a slice of cheese but like usual she was staying off pork. Not that she really subscribed to eating Kosher but she had her own unchanged breakfast routines and she wasn't deviating from them.

Black Junior on the other hand, like Severus, had been sampling everything, and unlike his brother or Potter, was actually eating what he had on his plate. Between bites he was looking at both with unhidden concern, sometimes interrupted by a slight grimace when either of them played with their food for too long.

Breakfast passed in remote peace, but the tension slowly started rising as the plates grew emptier. Regardless of the initial agreement to work together to eradicating both the Dark Lord and scheming, sherbet consuming, twinkling old coot, they did have a lot to talk about to be completely on the same page. And it was imperative that they were.

"So who's going to start?" asked Tonks curiously once Black Junior distributed fresh cups of tea after cleaning the table from the breakfast's clutter.

"How about the Walking Dead?" suggested Severus.

"Is it really that important?" asked Regulus with a grimace.

"Let me think," said Severus with a grimace. "You somehow managed to convince her," he gestured towards Bathsheda "to drag herself here, which by extension means that you dragged the rest of us here too."

"That hadn't exactly been my plan," replied Regulus grimly. "My plan was to get in and out of my house to fetch necessary stuff but they," he gestured at Lupin and Tonks, "had a different idea."

"To be fair I would have been sitting on my arse at home with her," said Lupin as he gestured towards Tonks, "hiding in the bushes nearby when she wasn't using my shower if it wasn't for a certain article in the Daily Prophet which claimed that Harry Potter was missing."

"To be fair if it wasn't for the same article I would be still dying from boredom on a conference in Beijing," added Severus.

"And I would have a rewarding ending of my vacation in the company of nymphomaniacs if the idiot over there," said Bathsheda as she gestured towards Severus, "didn't decide to risk multicontinental apparation which nearly bloody killed him, if it wasn't for that article."

"You seriously apparated from Beijing to England?" asked Regulus curiously as he leaned over to look at Severus.

"Georgia," muttered Severus with a grimace.

"How badly did he fucke himself up?" asked Regulus as he turned towards Bathsheda.

"Pretty badly," replied Bathsheda with a shrug. "Why are you asking?"

"No reason," replied Regulus quickly, too quickly for Severus's liking and for some reason it made both Black senior and Potter snort in almost perfect unison.

"Done something worse than that?" asked Severus pointedly.

"Yeah, apparated through the Dark Lord's anti-apparation wards and put himself out of commission for two years," replied Black. "With ruptured magical core that took its sweet time in recovering."

"What for?" asked Lupin sceptically.

Instead answering right away Regulus pulled the locket out of his pocket and placed it on the table. Only once it was laying on the table, ominously just there, he asked, "Does anyone require further explanation on the subject?"

"How did you know what it was?" asked Severus pensively.

"Upbringing," replied Regulus. "And having one of the best equipped libraries on the subject of the Dark Arts in the family. Didn't figure it out until I examined the cup which his evilness handed to Bella."

"Wait, you're saying that he has more than that one?" asked Lupin sceptically before he looked at Potter.

"Four that I know, one of which was destroyed quite recently," replied Regulus grimly.

"Possibly five," muttered Black with a slight grimace. "At the very least until it can be examined I'm disinclined to rule it out. And if it is one then we're fucked."

"What exactly do you have in mind?" asked Regulus pensively.

"Gryffindor's sword," replied Black grimly.

Regulus groaned, loudly and Severus found himself echoing him. He never got a chance to touch the sword but he had seen it and read about its magical properties. Black was right, if the Dark Lord managed to turn the sword into a Horcrux they were fucked, as the sword was rumoured to be indestructible.

"Do you have any evidence to support that notion?" Severus found himself asking.

"A very intense hunt for Gryffindor families in the months leading to the Dark Lord's fall," replied Black grimly. "Started roughly a couple of days after the rat became James and Lily's secret keeper and continued well into the fall, maybe a couple weeks before Halloween."

"Wait," said Lupin. "How long precisely had Peter been their Secret Keeper?" he asked.

"The exact number of days aren't going to change what he did," replied Black with a snort. "But if it helps you sleep at night," he added with a grimace. "We performed the Fidelius Charm on 17th July 1981, the very moment the moon had risen. Lily wanted it done on the full moon to give it additional strength, not that it helped in the end."

"But Voldemort hadn't gotten to them for over three months," muttered Lupin.

"Well, I'm inclined to give the rat a couple of days to agonise over the idea of passing the news to Vader," replied Black sourly.

"Then there's the Dark Lord himself," added Regulus. "No one really knows the limit of his knowledge and what he actually planned to do once he got there. There are numbers of dark rituals that need to be prepared for a specific number of days or done on specific days within the year."

"Like say Samhain," interjected Bathsheda pensively.

"Hence lulling the Potters into false sense of security that everything was in order," added Regulus. "And if he really managed to get his hands on Gryffindor's Sword and planned to turn it into a Horcrux…"

"Then he wouldn't have gotten a more meaningful date or death than the death of the toddler prophesised to vanquish him," muttered Potter. "Except that wasn't exactly what happened. Does anyone know what possibly could have happened?" he asked as he looked around the room.

"It really depends from the lengths that your mother was willing to go through to ensure your survival," said Bathsheda slowly. "And Evans," she paused, "Evans was smart, resourceful and because she was a Muggleborn she lacked the constrains which any pure- or half-blood witch would have in her place. There are a number of protective rituals that can only be performed by a mother, smaller than that of those that can be performed on specific days in the year but…" she hesitated.

"I've seen the Potter library," Black interjected. "There was nothing in there that would have helped her. Fleamont and Euphemia really abhorred dark magic…"

"And blood magic for a number of decades had been considered as dark," added Regulus.

It really was, which was why Severus was greatly put out and worried when he discovered the thievery of the books that he himself had… well, not exactly stolen, more like he forgot to return them once Regulus died.

"Didn't you once borrow Magicae Sanguinis from me?" asked Regulus pensively as he turned towards Severus.

Severus almost snorted. Of course the fucker would remember that.

"Yes," he admitted calmly.

"And did you return it?" Regulus pressed further.

"I intended to," replied Severus. "But then I got the door slammed in my face and decided that if anyone needed it then they would be able to locate me."

"And did they?" asked Black pointedly.

"No," replied Severus with a snort. "But the book disappeared sometime between the late autumn of 1980 and autumn of 1981."

"I assume that you didn't keep it on view," commented Regulus.

"Of course not," replied Severus with a snort. "Not that any other mark bearers than you made it further than the sitting room."

"The usual hiding spot then?" asked Regulus.

Severus grunted. The loose floorboard in his room had been inconspicuous enough to keep his father from pilfering through his meagre savings. It was located precisely under the bed and required some gymnastic to get to it. Over the years it hosted many things, early on his wand and more valuable books, later on trinkets and mementos, money that he didn't want his father to know about. The book had ended there too eventually, and when he discovered that it went missing he was perplexed who would have dared to take it. He didn't ward it, he contemplated it for a little while but he knew enough about human nature to know that wards, unless they had been obscured by an experienced warder hardly ever served their purpose. They were more like an invite for curious fucks, like say Bathsheda, to examine what precisely was hidden behind them.

When the book originally went missing he simply assumed that Arcturus Black, the paranoid fuck, had some spell placed on it that summoned the book to the library.

"We had one here, didn't we?" asked Black pensively.

"We did," agreed Regulus. "But Grandpa removed it and a couple of others one day shortly after you disappeared. Heard him and father arguing over it. He was quite adamant about it and threatened to leave father with only romance novels and school textbooks if he didn't comply, which he did but he wasn't very happy about it."

"Because they were banned, weren't they?" asked Bathsheda curiously.

"Not all of them," replied Regulus with a grimace. "But a couple of them were on the list of regulated stuff and some of them were only meant for the eyes of family members. To quote Grandpa: what's on the GBL list of private collections should stay with the private collection. The GBL list referred to the library in the Black Manor in Derbyshire and that's where the collection was supposed to reside."

"So it came from there," stated Black.

"I took it from there, yes," agreed Regulus. "But until we check it out I can't say whether or not it indeed went missing or was returned to the library. It's hard to tell what Grandpa did after I was gone and father died. I didn't exactly have a chance to examine the library here, and for all that I know once there was no one here, Grandpa might have carried out his threat and left mother behind with only romance novels and school textbooks."

"Something worth checking out later," muttered Black. "Did Lily know about that hiding spot?" he asked as he looked at Severus.

"She was the one who discovered it," admitted Severus grudgingly. "Petunia," he barely kept himself from spitting out her name, "got hysterical over some harmless mischief which Lily brought from Hogwarts after we returned from our first year, and to console her Mrs Evans had banned all magical stuff from the house for the summer. She allowed Lily to keep the wand and books in the house but urged Lily to not work on anything when Petunia was in the room."

"And knowing Petunia, after that statement she turned into Lily's shadow for the rest of the summer," commented Black.

"You knew her that well?" asked Severus sarcastically.

"No, but I had a nosy sibling," said Black pointedly.

"Well, in retrospect I was a bit right," snorted Regulus.

"But not on all fronts," replied Black. "She discovered it and then what? Stacked her contraband at your place?"

"For that summer and in spite of my protests," agreed Severus, feeling a bit uneasy about the easiness with talking about Lily to someone other than Dumbledore, he didn't even talk that much about her with Bathsheda.

But then again, these people, well, most of these people knew him at school and knew about his friendship with Lily. And they knew Lily.

"And then what?" asked Regulus curiously. "The contraband survived?"

"Of course it did, you met my father, the only time he bent for anything in the house was to tie his shoes or look for a bottle," replied Severus with a snort. "Then old Mrs Evans passed away and Petunia got her own room so Lily could keep her stuff in her own," he added slowly.

"Another place worth checking," muttered Regulus. "What's the address?" he asked as he turned towards Severus.

"Doesn't really matter," replied Severus with a grimace. "Petunia got rid of it after the Evans' passed away."

"And she swindled Lily of her portion of inheritance too," commented Black with a snort. "Claimed that she would pay her back eventually. I'm not even sure what she needed it for. Either new house or that walrus's company."

"Another thing worth checking," said Regulus grimly.

"Where the money went?" asked Potter sceptically. "What for?"

"Because if she owed Lily money and didn't pay her off for her portion of the inheritance it would give us some legal rope to tug on," replied Regulus. "As her child you inherit everything that was owed to her."

"I wouldn't bother," replied Potter sourly.

"Why not? If it's yours, it's yours," said Bathsheda curiously.

"Because if you demand that money I'm sure that you will receive in return a detailed list of how much raising me cost them, and my own money would be on that cost, greatly exceeding whatever Mum was owed by Aunt Petunia," replied Potter and he snorted. "I would leave it if I were you," he added after a moment as he looked from one Black to the other.

The look that passed through Black's face heavily implied that he disagreed with the boy but after a moment, his face returned to the earlier more neutral one.

"There's another thing which we need to discuss quite urgently," said Bathsheda, in her calm, educating complete dunderheads tone. "And it's Harry's return to Hogwarts."

_**Secrets & Keepers – Entropy** _

_Sirius Black, 8_ _th_ _August 1993, 12 Grimmauld Place, London._

"Over my dead body," flew out of his mouth as soon as Bathsheda stated it.

"That could be easily arranged," muttered Snape and weirdly that statement lacked the heat that Sirius expected to hear.

He really had to be greatly disturbed by what he learned to not show even a hint of disgust or contempt. It seemed as if the comment was a knee-jerk reaction to Sirius's statement, a force of habit rather than something that he said consciously.

"Over Dumbledore's dead body then," supplied Regulus with a snort. "I'm with Sirius on this one. As long as Dumbledore remains the Headmaster, the safest place for Harry is anywhere else."

"Agreed," said Bathsheda calmly. "But you're forgetting that you're dead," she added as she turned to Regulus and then as she turned to Sirius, "you're a wanted man and that Harry had been officially reported as missing."

"And right now Dumbledore is convinced that he's missing due to usual teenage drama but the longer he stays missing the more likely it is that a manhunt for him will start," stated Snape. "Which considering the current circumstances should be the very last thing you should want. You know, with the planned manhunt for the Dark Lord's soul pieces and all."

Point taken, Sirius agreed grudgingly, to himself rather than out loud. It was bad enough that he was a wanted man and he would remain us such until they caught Pettigrew. But it didn't change the fact that Harry wasn't safe at Hogwarts, not that he really wanted to let him out of his sight, not so soon after….

"What if there was a way to smuggle you into the castle?" offered Bathsheda pensively.

"Dumbledore and Fudge are convinced that Black is heading for Hogwarts and you want to hide him at Hogwarts?" asked Snape incredulously.

Bathsheda turned towards him and quipped, "No safer place than in the dragon's nest."

"Hogwarts has wards," pointed out Remus. "Wards which Dumbledore controls."

His comment made Bathsheda turn towards him and the looked that passed through her face spoke of something that at the same time caused a small hope to bloom in Sirius's chest and raised his shackles.

"Yes, Dumbledore does control the wards," said Bathsheda calmly before she looked at Snape pointedly.

And while she was partly turned away from him he couldn't exactly see her face but he could see Snape's. His mouth didn't move but his eyes had flashed briefly from cold and dispassionate to burning.

"Are you sure?" asked Snape eventually, with definitely heard scepticism in his voice.

"Granted pulling it off will require some time and a lot of work, and someone," she looked back at Sirius, "will have to cough up a couple of stones. But I can safely smuggle both of you into the castle and keep you there unnoticed. Would that satisfy your desire for Harry's safety?" she asked pointedly.

"Not unless you will be able to find a way to smuggle me into Gryffindor tower and keep me there at all times," replied Sirius stiffly.

He abhorred the idea of Harry ever stepping a foot in the castle as long as Dumbledore remained at the helm of the school, or breathing really.

The look that passed through Bathsheda's face at his statement was so achingly familiar to Mirzam's that his heart skipped a bit and his throat squeezed slightly. Mirzam would have risen to the challenge and Bathsheda…

"Challenge accepted," she replied with a wide smile. "Thank you, Sirius."

"You already have a plan, don't you?" asked Sirius with a sigh.

"I know that for Gryffindors planning ahead takes all the fun out of life," said Bathsheda simply and her comment had earned her a snort from Harry and Remus, "but I'm not a Gryffindor."

"Everybody that went to school with you knows that," commented Snape with a small snort. "Lupin will be heading to Hogwarts eventually and Ms Tonks can slip in and out, mostly unnoticed if her presence there would be required. But how exactly are you planning to harbour a fugitive and walking undead in the castle?"

"With great caution obviously," replied Bathsheda simply and Sirius snorted. "As things stand, my good for nothing brother decided to kick the bucket."

"Last year," interjected Snape with a grimace before he took a sip of his tea.

"But his wife was alive last year and they had an eleven year old son," continued Bathsheda.

"Didn't he die alone?" offered Snape with a slight frown.

"You presume that Dumbledore will check it out?" Bathsheda asked pointedly. "But even if he did that arse died as he lived, as a Muggle and I can attribute to him whatever I fucking please."

"And Dumbledore won't ask your father to confirm that?" offered Sirius.

"He could do that, but first he would have to find the Resurrection Stone, which isn't going to happen anytime soon, if at all. He isn't that good with multitasking," replied Bathsheda with a snort.

"My condolences," offered Sirius.

Bathsheda shrugged and grimaced.

"But you have other brothers and ones that have children," pointed out Sirius.

Bathsheda grimaced even harder.

"Bathy," said Sirius softly. "What happened?"

"Celeste Dimhallow that's what happened," she muttered grimly. "Nevermind, let's move on. We have more pressing matters to attend than the state of the Babbling family."

"Considering that you're planning to make him," said Sirius as he gestured at Regulus, "a part of the Babbling family I think that we should talk about it. And what about Sheba? Won't she have anything against gaining a surprise cousin?" he asked pointedly.

With his gaze concentrated on Bathsheda he barely managed to catch Snape flinching at the mention of Bathsheba's name. But Bathsheda's face didn't change from the schooled, dispassionate mask that radiated with 'we're not discussing that now'.

"Bathy?" he pressed again. "What happened?"

The room fell silent and the only thing that could be heard was the soft breaths of their occupants.

"They're dead Sirius," said Remus finally, in a soft calm voice.

"How?" slipped out of Sirius's mouth on an exhale.

"Celeste Dimhallow," answered Snape quietly. "Daughter of Clemente Dimhallow. You might not remember him as from what I gathered his entourage had outnumbered you and hexed you with pretty nasty stuff but while you were passing out you managed to…"

"Hex a copper flowerbox from one of the windowsill that had fallen on his head," finished Sirius softly. "Heavy weight, high fall, hit him right on the head. According to official reports he was dead before I completely passed out," he finished. "And his daughter? What did she had to do with it? Bathy?" he turned towards her.

"According to the public?" Bathsheda muttered finally. "She was just another victim of what had happened. An innocent, young witch caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. A life lost at the beginning of a new road in her life, the engagement to Benjamin Babbling and all the usual jazz."

"But that wasn't what happened," said Sirius with calmness in his voice that he didn't feel.

"No," replied Bathsheda with a shake of her head. "When Christmas Eve had been turning into Christmas she cast Fiendfyre that devoured the mansion and everyone that at the time was inside it."

"Your parents," whispered Sirius.

She nodded.

"Your brothers with their families," he added in the same small whisper.

She nodded slowly.

"Your daughter," he said it so softly that he could barely hear himself.

Her nod was barely a slight jerk of her head.

"All of them except me and David," she said finally. "I was at the flat, had a Mastery exam coming that would have allowed me to get away from…" she shook her head. "David found me there and dragged me back to the house. But it was already too late," she paused. "The wards collapsed, inwards, to protect the village, they locked everybody in and us out. I heard them, I heard them all and there was nothing that I could do to stop it," she paused again and a tear rolled slowly down her cheek. "I couldn't even protect my daughter. She was in my room, behind the wards that kept the fire out but not the smoke. She kept banging on the window and crying for me but…"

"She asphyxiated," finished Regulus softly as he gently placed his hand on her arm. "And you watched it."

She nodded slowly.

"I'm sorry," whispered Sirius softly, not controlling the need to reach out and hug her but he couldn't.

"It wasn't your fault," she said softly. "You aren't responsible for other people's choices, Sirius. Only for your own and as much as I wanted to pin that on you during the worst of it, you couldn't have predicted that she would be just as bad as her father. If anyone's to blame then it's Benjamin for bringing that cunt home and proposing to her after barely three months of knowing her."

"And David, did he share your opinion?" asked Sirius quietly.

"David didn't share anything with me other than the lunch which the Auror guarding our quarters had attempted to force into us and screamed out accusation that his wife and children's deaths were my fault," replied Bathsheda grimly. "He vacated his room during the night and was out of the country before the day fully ended, leaving me to deal with the aftermath of his outburst."

"On your birthday," whispered Sirius. "After you just lost your daughter, you parents, your brothers and your nephews and nieces."

"What a fucking jerk," muttered Regulus.

"He'd always been one," said Bathsheda with a soft snort. "Just like Ben was always after a new cunt," she grimaced. "Aaron really was the best of them, and even he had his faults."

Sirius knew, probably better than she had, that out of all three of the Babbling brothers, Aaron was the one that at the very least attempted to make an effort of looking after their younger sister, and his niece.

Bathsheba was dead. His throat squeezed a bit tighter at that thought. She died as a child hardly older than… She turned three in September of 1981. Like with Harry a couple months earlier he missed the birthday party but remembered to send a gift. How old was she…

"It was Christmas of 1981," he heard coming from a fog and weirdly when he concentrated on the voice it sounded like Snape's.

"Weren't you in Azkaban during Christmas of 1981?" asked Remus, with a hint of scepticism.

"I was let out just before the new term had started," replied Snape sourly. "Found her at Hogwarts instead of Graham and looking for blood."

"Yours?" asked Regulus sceptically. "Why?"

The looks he received in return spoke volumes as did another. A hint of sneer in the curled thin lips, narrowed eyes. At Hogwarts Mirzam feelings towards Snape were pretty ambivalent. She didn't hate him but she didn't harbour any sentiments towards him, other than keeping Sirius on occasion from taking out his own frustration with the man. But after they graduated something had changed and whenever Snape's name happened to be mentioned at the very least she sneered at the mention of his name.

Mirzam was the observant one. Not that he was the blind idiot that tripped over clues. He was good at what he did, with and without Mirzam, but out of the two of them Mirzam was the one more likely to pick subtle hints from body language faster than he did, and she had a better photographic memory than him.

Little Bathsheba looked like a miniature version of her mother with her dark-brown curls and small aquiline nose. But her eyes, her eyes while still brown under certain light were far darker than that of her mother.

He closed his eyes summoning to the forefront of his mind the face of his goddaughter. Then he opened them again and looked Snape dead in the eyes.

"Because he fathered her," whispered Sirius softly. "He fathered her and she was dead and he had to suffer with her."

"Wasn't…" started Regulus.

"Shut up, if you know what's best for you, kindly shut up," said Bathsheda sternly and looked from Regulus to Sirius.

"If it makes you happy," muttered Sirius with slight sourness.

"It doesn't make me unhappy and I had eleven years to sort that out. So kindly mind your own business or I will start asking what you and my sister had been up to," said Bathsheda pointedly.

"Unlike what we've heard before nothing that would cause permanent damage to a delicate teenage psyche," replied Sirius stiffly.

"She was pregnant when she died for crying out loud," snorted Bathsheda.

"Mirzam?" whispered Remus. "She was pregnant when she died?" he asked as he looked at Sirius.

Remus didn't know. It was the only thing about which they didn't talk about when he broke down on Harry's first birthday and Remus attempted to do his best to put him back together. He had been tempted to say it, to admit it out loud but found himself choking on the words. Admitting Harry's existence, for as short as it had been, would make his passing final, not to mention the mess it would cause if the word got out. And it would have gotten out because Sirius had to plead with him until he was blue in the face to convince Remus to not mention anything about Mirzam to James and Lily.

"You never said," said Remus softly.

"Because I knew that you would," admitted Sirius with a heavy sigh. "To Lily if not James and it was bad enough that she suspected that something wasn't right. They had enough on their plate to also worry about me."

"Of course she worried about you, you moron," scoffed Bathsheda. "You were the closest person she had for a brother and actually a better friends than Potter ever were. She pelted me with questions about what was wrong, bloody empath, and if I didn't oath like I stupidly had…" she huffed and shook her head. "Whatever happens going forward you talk, all of you," she added sternly as she looked around the room.

"You aren't honestly suggesting…" started Snape.

"That your boyfriend and I should hash out our differences and grievances while braiding each other's hair," finished Sirius.

"The amount of alcohol that event would have required would be monstrous," muttered Remus with a soft snort.

"I prefer hexing," said Sirius, nearly over the echoing sentiment from Snape.

"That's settled," commented Dora. "But now we have another problem. How to turn Harry from officially missing without letting him out and without Dumbledore getting himself involved."

TBC


	2. Chapter 02 - The Boy Who Wasn't Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirus has a heart to heart with Harry. Arcturus and Hermione discuss her father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Word count:** About 6300
> 
> **Author's note:** This story will make very little sense to anyone who hadn't read both Secrets & Keepers – Collision Course and Secrets & Keepers – Supernova. The reading order doesn't matter as both exist in their own private bubbles that don't affect the other. Chronologically Supernova starts way earlier than Collision Course but both of them conclude on the same day. If someone prefers writing order then Collision Course was written prior to Supernova. This story will contain spoilers to both and will liberally include and reference characters and information learned in prior instalments.
> 
> _I would like to wish all of you Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. May the ending of this rotten year be peaceful to you all. May you all be healthy because if there's one thing that this year had proven to all of us is that without health other things matter very little. May your loved ones be safe and healthy too. And may the coming year be better than this one._
> 
> **Posted on Tuesdays.**
> 
> **Beta read by Regnbuen (Nitraz).**

_In everyone's life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit._

_~Albert Schweitzer_

**Secrets & Keepers – Entropy**

**Chapter two: The Boy Who Wasn't Missing**

_Harry Potter, 8_ _th_ _August 1993, 12 Grimmauld Place, London._

If someone had told him a couple days ago that one day he would be sitting with his godfather, Potions Professor and a couple of other interesting people, and plotting how to screw up Dumbledore and his attempts to screw up Harry's life, he would have laughed. Then again, at the time he wasn't aware that he was living on borrowed time.

It was like some fucked up equivalent of cancer, and one that wasn't affecting his body. But it did affect him, he noted. It always affected him. The dreams of Voldemort, the pain of his presence, parseltongue. It was all Voldemort, the wretched parasite. As if it wasn't bad enough that he had taken away his parents and had attempted to destroy his life multiple times, he also had to take away…

Not everything. Not precisely. But he felt no longer sure how much of himself was purely him alone and how much of him was Voldemort.

The mutual airing of grievances of adults continued from the morning into noon, and concluded with a plan that was supposed to warrant that for the rest of the summer Harry would remain with Sirius, Regulus and possibly the other four at Grimmauld Place. It required Regulus's presence and his Metamorphmagi abilities, so he headed out with Snape and Babbling. Lupin and Tonks stayed a little while after that before they eventually headed out too. Lupin looked like he wished to talk with Sirius, but Sirius…

Sirius was at Harry's side through the entire day. Only allowing him privacy while in the bathroom, which was where Harry was at the moment, contemplating the idea of fixing the problem of being the vessel for Voldemort's soul by drowning himself in the bath.

He didn't want to die. Not that he'd really had a chance to consider death as an option before. In all of the previous instances when finding himself against Voldemort, he was too caught up in the moment, in not allowing Quirrel to get to the stone or Riddle to completely possess Ginny. In both cases death was on the table. That was one of the few things in which the adults had agreed on.

He didn't want to die but that didn't change the fact that his death would make the whole mess of Voldemort's scattered soul pieces easier to handle for the adults.

"Or if you died then Voldemort would take over your body and none of us would be any wiser," he heard Sirius saying from the doorway.

"I said it out loud, didn't I?" muttered Harry, more to himself than to Sirius as he looked at the man.

He looked awful, worried and haggard, older than last night.

"At the very least for as long as it would have suited him to kill us one after the other," Sirius continued as he walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind himself. "And then after he would sort us out he would move on with his nefarious plans while using you as a vessel. Your friends most likely would have witnessed the change, they would be worried sick and eventually they would have confronted him… Wanna guess how that would have ended?" he asked as he perched on the edge on the bathtub.

Harry sighed heavily.

"Then what should I do?" he asked, hating himself for sounding petulant.

"It's more about what you shouldn't do," said Sirius slowly. "Don't consider it," he added as he reached to touch Harry's scar with the tip of his forefinger, "as a death sentence just yet," his finger had moved higher to tangle into Harry's hair. "Everybody dies, Harry, some sooner than others. Some get to live for centuries and some…"

"Die before they're born," finished Harry. "Like your son," he added softly. "Or not so long after, like your goddaughter."

"Please don't ask me to see you dead too before you had a chance to live," whispered Sirius. "I couldn't bear it, Harry. At the very least allow me a chance to find a way to remedy that. Promise?"

Harry swallowed thickly and he whispered, "I promise."

"Good," said Sirius briskly. "Wanna help me with sorting out guest rooms?"

"You have something in mind, don't you?" asked Harry sceptically.

"Well, I'm planning to stick Bathy and Snape in my parents' bedroom so I can have an entire floor between us," admitted Sirius.

"Why?" asked Harry, slightly curious.

"Well, if their exchange in the hallway says anything about the state of their relationship," the word relationship was spoken with a grimace, "then they're at it quite frequently. I know Bathy well enough to be able to tell when she's gotten some. And it hasn't been for a while. So unless they will traumatise Regulus before they return, most likely they will settle that shortly after, most likely here."

"What do you think she sees in him?" asked Harry pensively. "Not that I actually want to know," he added with a slight grimace.

"Considering that their first encounter was the actual, textbook rape, even by the standards of rape-apologists?" asked Sirius with a grimace. "Stockholm's syndrome maybe, or an unhealthy coping mechanism that managed to transform that into something consensual?" he offered and frowned. "Knowing Bathy…" he paused. "She presents herself as a put together, reasonable Ravenclaw, and she is one, most of the time. At the same time like Mirzam had been, she's a violent mixture of her nature and upbringing. The Babblings were Jewish, not Orthodox but very proper and traditional, but Mrs Babbling was an Irish Muggleborn, and little that I know about her, she could have a temper when pushed."

"So if Snape said something that pushed her past what she could handle too soon…" started Harry.

"He might have found himself in a reverse position. Especially if he had done shortly after her family had died," finished Sirius grimly. "Not that I have something against the idea. Rapists really are the worst kind of criminals that I had a misfortune of dealing with. Not that murderers are any better but…" he grimaced. "They take pleasure in someone's pain, in their humiliation, in watching people break before their eyes," he whispered heatedly, his eyes bright with something that Harry couldn't fathom.

Something in his tone bothered Harry. It wasn't speculative and as a former Auror Sirius would definitely come in contact with the victims of rapes. But his eyes, his eyes, they burned with a fire which Harry had seen before. The last attempt of destruction just before…

Then it dawned on him.

"You were raped," he whispered.

Sirius frowned, shook his head slowly and grimaced.

"I was," finally admitted Sirius.

"More than once," whispered Harry again, feeling in his gut that he was right.

"Repeatedly," muttered Sirius grudgingly. "Between the age of eight and sixteen, at odd intervals, inner schedule which only he knew," he admitted slowly. "More often when I'd done something that warranted a punishment. I hated it, every second of it, but he played me like a fiddle every goddamn time, so I complied," he paused and sighed heavily. "I complied because the alternative terrified me more than my own pain and humiliation. I could bear it, I bore it for over eight bloody years because it meant that no one else had to suffer the way I had," he sighed again. "I was obviously wrong, those people, most of those people, are excellent manipulators Harry. They know what to say and to whom they should say it. They're the parasites that destroy your sense of self-worth, your dignity, everything…"

Subconsciously Harry felt the change in tone and subject of the conversation.

"He didn't rape me," he said softly.

"Not physically," muttered Sirius with a grimace. "But think about it. A figure of authority, someone who should be capable of sorting out his own messes instead of doing so continued to manipulate a teenager, a child really into cleaning up after his own mistakes. Just because he isn't attracted to minors and hasn't laid a hand on a child, to my knowledge at the very least, doesn't make him any less of a predator. Not being a sexual predator is literally the only good thing about him."

"And that's why you will destroy him," said Harry. "What happened to him? Your rapist I mean."

"Mirzam did," answered Sirius with a shrug. "Stood over him while he was dying from a heart-attack and didn't lift a finger to help him. Later on she claimed that she arrived too late, but I knew her, better than anyone. I was family and there was nothing she wouldn't do to keep her family safe. Just like there's nothing I wouldn't do to keep you safe, even if it means chaperoning you in the bath if required."

"You find it uncomfortable, don't you?" asked Harry as he straightened slightly.

"I survived seven years of sharing a bathroom with your father, and James didn't have constrains about parading around both the bathroom and the dormitory naked," replied Sirius with a grimace. "Not of ill will, at least I hope that it wasn't out of ill will but he grew up having an entire wing to himself and he was one lazy sod. Luckily Moony was as conscious about his own body as I had been and Pettigrew was far more easier to convince that wandering around naked wasn't exactly a bright idea. Not that James ever figured out why Moony and I kept shrinking their family jewels. He could be pretty thick sometimes."

"But he was still your friend," said Harry.

Sirius hummed before he said, "I will give you five minutes to sort yourself but if you aren't out by then I will subject you to Grandma Mel's hurrying up."

Then he stood up and started walking out of the bathroom.

"Should I worry?" Harry called after him.

"If you dally," called Sirius over his shoulder just as he passed through the door.

"Yes mother," Harry called out just as the door of the bathroom started to close.

**Secrets & Keepers – Entropy**

_Hermione Granger, 8_ _th_ _August 1993, Black Manor, Derbyshire._

Saying it out loud didn't help as Arcturus suggested. It didn't make the words any less surreal, just like they had been in de Pagaille's workshop. It still seemed like a cosmic joke, even after losing a night of sleep over it and deciding that they didn't matter.

But Arcturus knew, and if Arcturus said that it was true then it was true.

She looked at him, dead in the eye. The answer that she received was all but a small nod, a brief jerk of his head really, so miniscule that if she didn't concentrate on the look on his face as hard as she had she would have missed it.

"Yes, he is," admitted Arcturus softly, just in case nonverbal confirmation wasn't enough.

"But how is it possible?" she whispered. "How could he father both of us?"

"From what I learned, and mind you, my only source was limited to only what she was told, it was a ritual of a younger generation of Death Eaters. Not widely spread out, blessedly, but the Dark Lord's crowd drew in many sick fucks," said Arcturus grimly and he sighed.

"Like him?" she asked.

"Part of me wants to say yes," said Arcturus with a grimace. "But I met him, and he had something that made him stand out amongst those that eventually found themselves in Azkaban. People like him don't seek fulfilling their carnal desires with other people against their will, because they know that by leaving behind physical evidence they incriminate themselves. No, they seek out whorehouses and consensual trysts."

"But I'm a living, breathing proof that he didn't, and not the only one," she pointed out.

"I know," agreed Arcturus. "But I also know when you and your sister were born and when you were conceived," he added with another grimace. "I don't know the name of the practice but Miranda reckoned that it was a sick ritual conceived by idiots. On the day of birthday of the younger members of that vile crowd, they would take the lucky sod out to live a little. Their form of party involved the use of alcohol and not exactly legal substances, and if they managed to capture a woman that they reckoned would do, also rape. Knowing that, I can gauge that it was the only time when he would have been stupid enough to leave behind physical evidence."

"Twice?" asked Hermione incredulously.

"There's no such things as coincidences, and yet some unfortunate people get struck by lightning again in the very same spot they had been struck the first time," said Arcturus and he shrugged. "If you want to know, all you have to do is ask," he pointed out.

"Over my dead body," snorted Hermione. "What's the statute of limitation on rape?" she asked.

"Pretty depressing," replied Arcturus grimly. "From the event itself, it's five years to the day when it can be reported. In case of repeated offenders it can be extended to ten but first the victims need to prove that it was a repeated offence."

"That's sick," whispered Hermione. "And my mother didn't know?"

"Like I said, she didn't wish to know. She knew that Miranda tested your magical aura against that of your sister, and knew that you were both fathered by the same man, but she didn't wish to know his name. Didn't want to give him power over her, or either of you, she claimed. That I can understand, she was one of those women that learned the hard way what the patriarchy does to women that fail to fall in line."

"So I have no other choice other than walking up to him and asking, hey dad, do you mind telling how many women you raped?" she asked with a barely contained snort.

"Or you can make him do all of the heavy lifting," said Arcturus pensively.

"How?" she asked sceptically.

"A man of his intellect and ambition, at his post doesn't exactly have a lot of time nor opportunity to show his talent," said Arcturus slowly.

"No, he spends his days teaching dunderheads how to not blow themselves up, and quite frankly making a pretty appalling bloody job of it," she said sarcastically. "Otherwise he would have figured out by now that Neville is terrified of him and would have benefited more from being left alone and not having him hanging over his shoulder, criticising his every move."

"I didn't say that he was actually a good teacher," said Arcturus with a small smile. "He's a pretty bloody brilliant academic though, and one that very early on had enough drive to scrap the old curriculum and completely change the way the subject would have been taught. Sadly, only Damocles and I could see that. Not that the denial stopped him from tinkering with other stuff. I was never as good a brewer as Regulus had been, but I grew to appreciate the art, and he taught me how to find pearls amongst the swine. It's the ones that tinker with everything, you see, the restless, the unsatisfied, the ones that don't settle for one plausible answer."

"Well, I only know the bat of the dungeons that torments children for a living," she replied with a snort.

"I'm not denying that. But that bat is probably the sole reason why Belby actually managed to finish inventing his Wolfsbane potion," said Arcturus dryly. "You see, no one can step on a Slytherin's ambition like another Slytherin, and if he actually happens to be smarter than you…" added Arcturus with a quick, small smile. "The potion itself interested me greatly so I followed academic works in which it was mentioned. Snape's was one of the names of Belby's staunch critics, and he never wasted an opportunity to call him an idiot and prove precisely why he was being one. If Belby had less pride and more honour he would have credited Snape for his work on the metallurgy of cauldrons that would be able to hold the potion."

"Being called an idiot doesn't exactly endear to you towards the one that does so," Hermione pointed out.

"No, it does not, but Belby should know better," Arcturus pointed out. "Brewing had always been considered as an easy subject, very imitative really. And there was the time when it had been one. For centuries wizardfolk believed that taking any recipe and following the steps of it to the letter should produce the same results as they had been to the original author of it."

"It's a logical assumption," interjected Hermione.

"Logical, yes. Correct, not exactly," replied Arcturus. "You see, for centuries not a lot about the ingredients of potions had changed. But industrialism really fucked up with that branch. The changes were miniscule at first, but the last turn of centuries had really done that industry in. The pollution in the air and soil caused certain species to adapt to more toxic environment, some species grew thicker skin, some produced less juice."

"But the recipes stayed the same," said slowly Hermione.

"For most of the time, yes," confirmed Arcturus. "In benign potions, one that don't require a lot of precision from brewers, differences are miniscule and easy to miss. It's the advanced potions that cause problems, as their recipes needed to be followed to the letter. But suddenly following them to the letter produced at best adequate results or a bubbling cauldron full of sludge at worst. Figuring out what's causing the problem takes a certain kind of genius, that not all wizardfolk are capable of showing."

"And you're saying that Snape is one of them," interjected Hermione.

"While Slughorn himself never raised to the same brand of genius, he was more than capable of spotting it in others. He managed to produce several generations of decent brewers but he only gushed over two from that generation. One of them was Lily Evans and the other was Severus Snape. According to Slug, the best results they produced when they were working together, but pitching them against each other in advanced classes also produced interesting results, provided that they were seated on the opposite ends of the classroom otherwise they both descended to sabotaging each other's work, especially by seventh year. Not that it happened often, for all of his appearance of a dotting grandpa, Slug had a keen eye for averting disasters."

"So you're suggesting that I should appeal to his ambition," said Hermione sceptically. "But by what exactly?" she pressed. "Claiming that today no one would be able to reproduce de Pagaille's results?"

"For example," said Arcturus with a small smile.

Then it clicked.

"I have an older sister," she whispered.

Arcturus nodded slowly.

"And she must be a student herself," she added.

Arcturus nodded again.

"So, if I managed to convince Snape to duplicate de Pagaille's work and use it on a smaller scale of Hogwarts' population then I would be able to find my sister, who would lead me to our mother," she whispered in awe.

"Provided that you would be able…" started Arcturus but suddenly he choked on something and collapsed forward, barely stopping himself from collapsing by propping himself on his right hand.

Hermione frowned and leaned forward, helping him to straighten.

"Tommy," he rasped out before he chocked again and this time when he drew in a raspy breath he choked on blood, that spattered over his hand and the pristine sheets.

Hermione almost ignored the soft pop that followed the summoning but couldn't ignore what appeared on the bed a moment later. It was a tiny being, half-human sized. It had a bat-like ears, pale skin and a small tuft of white hair located on the top of its head that were tied back much like Arcturus's had been into a ponytail. Judging from what she heard from Harry about Dobby it appeared that the newcomer was a house-elf though he, judging by the male name, was dressed quite nicely in a pristine grey shirt with a black belt tied around his middle.

The elf immediately straightened Arcturus and made him turn so when the next bloody cough came it fell on the floor rather than on the bed.

Hermione herself managed to untangle herself from the sheets and slid over to the edge of the bed, with her legs dangling down as she wrapped her left arm around Arcturus's shoulders.

Arcturus rasped and coughed blood a couple more times before his laboured breathing returned to some semblance of normality. As soon as it had, the elf had grasped his left wrists with his left hand and pressed his right palm against Arcturus's chest.

"Louise needs to see the Master," he said sternly.

"I'm fine," whispered Arcturus.

"No, you're not," protested Hermione.

"I'm fine," repeated Arcturus, with a little more heat. "Don't worry."

"Does it happen often?" asked Hermione as she looked over Arcturus's head at the elf.

"This thing happened the first time," replied the elf after a moment of hesitation. "Master had been prone to spells of dizziness in the past but for the last several years…"

"Master is still in the room and you shouldn't worry our guest about the state of my health, Tommy," said Arcturus, with small degree of disapproval in his voce.

The elf narrowed his eyes at the back of Arcturus's head. Clearly he had other ideas and Hermione couldn't help but agree. Coughing blood was worrisome at the best of times.

"I can feel you glaring," sighed Arcturus. "Tommy, help me down to Louise. Normal way, if you apparate me, I will definitely puke."

"Yes, Master," replied Tommy sceptically. "Miss Hermione should ready herself for breakfast," he added. "Hannah prepared clothes for young miss to wear, they're in the closet on the right side of the bathroom door," he elf gestured towards the door that was located on the opposite side of the room to the window. "Breakfast should be ready within half of an hour, as Master and Mistress like to break their fast early," he added before he hopped from the bed and onto what appeared to be an invisible platform located roughly a meter from the ground.

Then he helped Arcturus stand up and floating next to him, he led the older man out of the room.

In worry over Arcturus, Hermione had hurried with her morning ablutions, ignoring the luxurious décor that the bathroom offered. She only noted its size, which for a bathroom was impressive, as it was a little bigger than her own bedroom back at home. Opting out of a bath, she took a quick shower, hindered slightly in its speed by the sheer amount of offered liquid soaps and opted out of washing her hair.

Once dried she returned to the bedroom and opened the door to the wardrobe only to be overwhelmed by the sheer amount of stuff she found inside it. Some of the clothes looked eerily familiar, as if they had come from her own closet while some looked quite aged.

In the end she settled for the replica of her poppy summer dress, which she found at Twilfitt & Tatting, but in a soft blue colour, with buttercups instead of poppies. She hesitated over lingerie for a moment, but the one she found in the closet's drawer looked new and fairly modest, like her own stuff. All of it fit her disturbingly well and she made a mental note to ask Arcturus how he knew her size.

Once dressed she examined her bag, which laid on the floor, propped against the footboard of the bed. She didn't exactly keep her clothes in there, mostly her books and notebooks, but she also kept a waterproof windbreaker in there, as well as a shawl, thin sweater, a fresh pair of socks and her poppy summer dress, which ended in there by accident. And when she examined her bag she still found them where they had been.

She put the socks on, preferring them over the tights that the closet offered, and found herself missing her own shoes. Only to notice upon looking around the room, a pair of cream slippers that when she put them on fit her feet like a glove.

Dressed properly, with her hair still pulled into a messy bun she forgot to untie after leaving the shower, she stepped into the corridor. It was wide and painted in a pale grey colour that contrasted heavily with the dark polished wood that could be seen around the edges of the graphite carpet running up and down the corridor.

For a moment she looked around, a bit at loss where she should head until she spotted a banister in the distance on the right side of the corridor. Banisters meant presence of stairs, which should lead downstairs. The design of manors shouldn't really differ that much from that of Muggle houses, and common areas should be located in easily accessible areas, generally on the ground floor.

Once she found herself on the staircase, she noted that it had to be an inner staircase of private quarters rather than something accessible to visitors. The stairs led up, at the very least to another floor above, if not two, and down to a bright corridor that was bathed in soft rays of the sun.

She headed downstairs and found herself in another inner hallway. One of the double doors were closed, but the other three were open wide, inviting her to inspect them from the distance. The room on her right appeared to be some form of the sitting room, as well as one on her left side, the only difference between them was that in the one on the left stood a black grand piano.

The door in front of her led to a relatively small, considering the size of everything else about the manor, dining room with a modestly sized rectangular table, surrounded by chairs that were meant to accommodate a dozen people.

Arcturus was seated at the far end of it, smoking a pipe leisurely and inspecting the newspapers. Seated on his left was fragile looking lady that looked up when Hermione entered the room and smiled at her. It was a bright, childlike smile that didn't fit her face. She didn't appear to be physically older than Arcturus but the skin on her face was pulled taut and more wrinkled than Arcturus's. She had long hair, in a similar shade to Arcturus's steel grey hair but with completely white strands peeking through, and while Hermione couldn't see her eyes very well, they appeared to be dark, probably brown in colour if not black.

"Ah, Hermione," said Arcturus as he looked at her over the paper before he folded it and placed it on the table. "Do sit down," he added and a chair next to him, opposite of the old lady slid out a bit, indicating where she was supposed to sit.

"Should you be smoking?" she asked sceptically as she approached the table.

"Like I said earlier, I'm fine," replied Arcturus with a small shrug. "Nothing a pepperup wasn't able to fix."

"You were coughing up blood," Hermione pointed out.

"And a small vial of blood replenishing potion. Do not fret," said Arcturus briskly. "Now allow me to introduce you. Hermione, my wife Melania," he gestured towards the lady who smiled at her again in the same childlike manner. "Mel, my flower, this is Hermione, Miranda's niece, she will be staying with us until I sort out her father."

"Which one?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"Well," started Arcturus with a small grimace. "You haven't been officially reported as missing, but only due to the ineptitude of the Muggle French authorities that insist that with no evidence of foul play your parents can report you as missing until after twenty-four hours. But they're both worried about you, and unless you don't want to attract the attention of a certain sherbet-eating old coot, I suggest that we should handle that issue today," he added quickly.

"I really don't want anything to do with him," replied Hermione rebelliously before she sat down.

"That can be arranged," replied Arcturus simply. "But I still think that they should be made aware that you're safe."

Hermione huffed softly before her eyes had fallen at the folded paper next to Arcturus and she felt her eyes widen as the breath caught in her throat when she read the headline upside down:

**HARRY POTTER STILL MISSING!**

_Harry Potter, 13, still remains missing from his Muggle relatives. He was reported as vacating the premises of their house in the evening of the day before yesterday and were still missing yesterday morning. It still remains unclear whether or not The Boy-Who-Lived left his relatives voluntarily or not as it's uncertain where he is at the moment. It's speculated by various sources that he might have headed to his friends, but we were unable to verify that claim as certain people claim that Mr Potter's friends have the right to their privacy. If anyone should see him or if Mr Potter is reading this himself, please contact Aurors immediately._

"Sweet Merlin," whispered Hermione on an exhale. "Why didn't you tell me?" she choked out as she raised her eyes from the paper at Arcturus.

Who looked eerily calm, almost bored.

"You know where he is," she whispered as the realisation dawned on her.

Arcturus nodded slowly before he reached for the teapot.

"And you have no intention of reporting his location to the authorities," she continued.

Arcturus only looked at her and cocked his left eyebrow at her before he poured a cup of tea to his wife's teacup and then his own.

"Is he safe?" whispered Hermione, her stomach rolling with worry.

"Safer than he has been through the past twelve years," Arcturus finally replied verbally.

"Is Sirius with him?" she asked pensively.

"And Regulus," confirmed Arcturus calmly. "And one of those fucks, Regulus, I presume, has added him to the wards which make him untraceable by any magical means."

"Where are they?" she asked quickly.

"Black Manor in London," replied Arcturus as he reached for the smaller pot with milk and poured a generous splurge of it into Melania's teacup.

"The one on Grimmauld Place?" asked Hermione swiftly. "Can I see him?"

"Yes and no, in that order," answered Arcturus simply.

"Why not?" she asked with a frown. "Is something wrong with him?"

"I can't tell that much," sighed Arcturus. "What I can tell is that while I can still feel their presence I've been locked out of that house myself."

"What about the elves?" asked Hermione pensively. "Can they check upon them?"

"There's only one house-elf that can get in and out, and unfortunately he hasn't sworn his loyalty to me," replied Arcturus with a grimace. "He was an elfling that was Pollux's gift to his daughter on the day of her marriage to Orion. He was bound to follow my orders as the Head of the Black family because that was what Walburga and Orion ordered him to. My last direct order to him was to look after Walburga, which he did, until her death. He hasn't returned to Pollux or vacated the premises for an extended period of time," he sighed and frowned for a moment. "But," he started and paused, "he was insanely devoted to Regulus and was bereft with grief when Regulus supposedly died. It's highly likely that he would prioritise Regulus's orders over mine and in so far had ignored the summons. Lola, the other house-elf from that house, speculates that frailty of the bond between the two of us makes him deaf. It's not exactly unheard of, house-elves can and do have favourite masters. And while Kreacher was initially bonded to Walburga he had also been Regulus's manservant. Yes, he's highly likely to ignore me if Regulus's orders are contrary to mine."

"And no other house-elf can pass through the wards?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"If Regulus was involved in setting up the wards then I bet you a hundred galleons that he tuned them to his liking. He was an apt student in that regard and Orion was paranoid over the wards there. With Harry there, I'm certain that Regulus's paranoia had been cracked to the max," replied Arcturus.

"But he's safe there?" she asked quickly.

"Considering that he has been there for the last thirty-something hours?" asked Arcturus. "As safe as he can be between one paranoid Death Eater turncoat and most likely traumatised ex-Auror turned fugitive. Depending on how much time the boys had to spend hashing out their differences and mutual grievances, it's likely that he's either a hostage of one against the other or a willing houseguest, and I'm leaning quite heavily towards the latter," he added pensively.

"Why?" asked Hermione sceptically.

"Because Harry is a Black family descendant, the act of adding him to the house wards requires a willing surrender of blood from him, and Sirius wouldn't allow it if he was unable to see the merits of doing that. It is highly unlikely that he would be able to come up with it on his own which means that someone with a much clearer head had to convince him that adding Harry to the wards was paramount to his continued safety," explained Arcturus calmly before he reached for his tea and took a sip. "He was added to the wards yesterday which implies that rather than resorting to hexing first and asking questions later, my grandsons actually talked with each other."

"And that doesn't worry you at all?" asked Hermione pointedly.

"If I was Albus Dumbledore, I would have been worried, but since I'm not and I know where they all are at the moment I'm not even mildly concerned. Neither should you be, your friend is fine and safer than he has ever been. If most probably mildly overwhelmed with everything that's happened in the last couple of days," he answered.

"How do you know?" she asked.

"I would be," replied Arcturus with a shrug. "Enough talking for now, let's break our fast because we need to settle what the rest of your summer will look like."

**Secrets & Keepers – Entropy**

_Severus Snape, 8_ _th_ _August 1993, Spinner's End, Cokeworth._

He could have sworn that the whole scheme was bound to blow up in their faces but weirdly it wasn't what had happened. Upon being contacted by Severus and told that he had found their missing charge wandering the streets of Cokeworth, Dumbledore accepted the bait and agreed with Severus's strong suggestion that Potter should remain with him for the rest of the summer without much of a fuss. But Severus could tell that if the Weasleys were still in England the boy would have been shipped there immediately.

Luckily for them, when Dumbledore finally arrived to set his own wards around the perimeter, he didn't wish to see 'Harry' that at the time was snoring in the master bedroom after being dosed with a calming draught (after Bathsheda ensured that should Dumbledore desire to check whether or not it was the real Harry, he would have found the real boy instead of an undead Metamorphmagus). Dumbledore vacated the premises after leaving Severus with a letter to Harry that was supposed to explain why the boy was supposed to stay with Severus and a plea to cut the boy some slack considering the circumstances.

Severus replied coldly that he would cut Potter as much slack as the boy deserved and barely stopped himself from slamming the door after the Headmaster. Not that he didn't feel tempted to hex the old coot into the next century after what he learned that morning.

Once Bathsheda reappeared on the premises, half an hour after Dumbledore vacated the town, without doubt rearranging Dumbledore's wards to her own liking and covering her tracks afterwards, they both woke sleeping beauty that wasted no time in returning to his own skin and size, transfiguring the clothes he borrowed from the boy as he went.

"So how did it go?" asked Regulus curiously once he finished sorting himself out.

"Disturbingly easy, all things considered," replied Severus with a snort. "I wonder how long it will take him to reach out to Lupin. Not that I particularly wish to see him," he added sourly.

"Don't complain," said Bathsheda with a shrug. "Lupin's knowledge on the subject of Dark Arts cannot compare to yours," she gestured between Severus and Regulus, "but he's far from being a complete moron. And all things considered, he does care about the boy in his own, very restrained, way. I won't frown over having another pair of hands and eyes to go through the pile of books which we will have to look through in the near future."

"I'm not complaining," harrumphed Severus.

"No, but it isn't exactly how you envisioned your day, or at the very least the next couple of months," commented Regulus with a small smirk. "Long break?" he asked with a smile that had way too much teeth.

"Seven weeks," replied Bathsheda sourly.

"Might turn into eight or more," muttered Severus.

"Ah, lover's spat. I will leave you to it then. I have some shopping to do. See you later," replied Regulus.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next:** Severus and Bathsheda have a long-overdue discussion about loyalty. Afterwards, Sirius and Severus attempt to act like a pair of adults capable of maintaining a civilised discussion with each other.


	3. Chapter 03 - Messrs Snape & Black.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The much-needed conversation between Sirius and Severus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Word count:** About 4300
> 
> **Author's note:** I realise that this conversation might seem as out of character for both. But you have to remember about that this isn't forced reconciliation under Dumbledore's watchful eye. This is two men who agreed, on their own free will that they have common enemies, goals and a very complicated history. I tried my best to show how much effort this conversation is costing Sirius, he's admitting to a lot of things and to the last person on the planet he imagined ever admitting this stuff. Don't worry they won't become BFF by next chapter. Not that I'm completely opposed to the idea but a lot of time must pass and a lot of conversations must take place before either of them will realise that apparently they gained a friend in one another.
> 
> **As for the timeline.** Yes, it's quirky and a lot of stuff is happening on the same day but I swear that we won't spend next twelve chapters on 8th August 1993. What happens on 8th August is what needs to happen on 8th August but we will leave it behind after chapter six. Following chapters will be wrapped within a day each. If you want to know the next day that will be spread out over a couple of chapters will be the 1st September as it will revolve around the pov of various characters from that day but I promise that I will try to keep it as condensed as possible. But 1st September will be the day when a lot of people will be doing a lot of things at roughly the same time in different places. Hopefully I will manage to close it within no more than four chapters depending from their length, ideally two (but after CC I learned my lesson).
> 
> **Posted on Tuesdays.**
> 
> **Beta read by Regnbuen (Nitraz).**
> 
> _Happy New Year. May it be better than the last one, not that the bar is set very high._

_Just because everything is different doesn't mean anything has changed._

_~Irene Peter_

**Secrets & Keepers – Entropy**

**Chapter three: Messrs Snape & Black.**

_Severus Snape, 8_ _th_ _August 1993, Spinner's End, Cokeworth._

The silence that settled in the room once Regulus Black had vacated the premises wasn't uncomfortable, but only because he and Bathsheda were no strangers to periods of selective mutism and mutual ignorance of each other's existence. Although to be fair, he believed that it was a thing of the past.

"So," started Severus slowly as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Black."

"So, Lily," replied Bathsheda with a shrug as she crossed her own arms over her own.

"We aren't discussing her," objected Severus. "We're discussing the evident lack of communication Ms Talk To Someone About Your Problems," he pointed out coldly. "You knew where we were going this morning, you knew who we would be meeting there and yet you failed to mention any of that to me."

"Would you listen?" she asked pointedly, cocking her left eyebrow at him, as if daring him to confirm even though they both knew that if he knew beforehand where they were going, and whom they would find there, instead of them, Aurors and Hit-Wizards would darken the front steps of Black Manor.

"That's why I'm asking why," said Severus stiffly. "Why would you risk your freedom, your career, this…" he gestured between them, "and for that man of all people."

"Because I owed him," said Bathsheda with a soft sigh. "I owed him because while I was drowning in my own grief I left him alone to drown in his. He and Mirzam did more for us than any of my brothers or my parents even dared to consider. After…" she paused, licked her lips and took a deep breath before she continued, "after January," the day he'd raped her, his mind supplied, "I was in a very dark place. I chose probably the stupidest way of handling what happened. Complete denial of what had taken place, completely ignoring reporting it as well as necessary precautions against…"

"Against unplanned pregnancy," he finished softly.

"I existed in that bubble for too long to do something about it before I discovered that I was pregnant. By the time I realised it, it wasn't exactly too late for an abortion, not legally, but it was too late for me intellectually, emotionally. I had small nephews and nieces, I knew how pregnancy developed…" she continued until she stopped to draw another deep breath. "I was terrified, Severus. I knew what would happen if my parents discovered that I was pregnant and how they would have reacted if they found out that I couldn't…" she couldn't finish the sentence. "So one day, one night to be precise I ditched my fellow prefect and found myself in the Astronomy Tower. I have no idea how I got up there," she paused for a moment. "And I don't exactly have a complete recollection of that night," she added slowly. "Bits and pieces is what I have. Probably a side effect of the calming draughts and hormones on top of a mental breakdown. But the thing I do remember is a pair of strong hands pulling me down from the railing. It's the words assuring me that everything will be alright, even if the voice that spoke them had lacked the confidence in that. Not back then, he had to be terrified and felt unequipped to deal with what he encountered. But still he continued to hold and sooth me when I broke down and everything just came out."

She paused again and looked at the floor for a long moment.

"He and Mirzam were there once my parents had left the room but not before they managed to destroy some tiny resemblance of peace that the potions offered me. And it was them and not my parents or my brothers who told me that they would be by my side through every step of the way. They didn't pester, they didn't judge, they didn't care about what was proper and what was not. For a while after Sheba was born the Prophet's gossip column speculated that Sirius was the one who fathered her," she said finally. "He didn't care, he offered us shelter at a bargain price, and only on my insistence, not his and considering that I was finding money in my purse even when they were supposed to have ran out I'm not sure that he even touched the rent money I kept giving him. He was the one who walked around the room with Sheba when she was teething and I could barely keep my eyes open. And if not him then it was Mirzam. I wouldn't have made it through the first year of her life without them."

She paused again and after a moment of hesitation she sat down on the couch while Severus remained standing.

"You fathered Sheba, Severus," she said softly. "But the only father she knew was Sirius. He was the one who could cheer her up or convince her to eat the pea puree which she abhorred. He had an infinite amount of patience when she was sick and I was ready to tear my hair out. Not that Mirzam didn't help. I'm quite sure that during the worst accumulations of mastery exams for nearly a fortnight she saw more of them than of me," she paused for a moment and rubbed her chin with the back of her left hand. "It suited them, parenthood, separately and together they made it seem effortless and when I looked at them I could see them, older, with children of their own. I envied them that, this certainty in their future with each other. How I hated myself for that when she died, when she took their little boy with her. I mean, rationally I know that my envy had nothing to do with her death but on a certain level maybe if I…" she paused again and remained silent for a very long time.

"What changed afterwards?" asked Severus quietly.

"We did," sighed Bathsheda. "Mirzam wasn't exactly the glue that kept us together but without her…" she paused. "Being around each other was painful, just like Sheba's questions about her aunt. Still he tried his best even though between fretting over the Potters, the Auror Office and that blasted Order of the Crispy Chicken he was hardly getting any sleep. But for Sheba he continued to remain a doting father that brought her tiny gifts and soothed occasional nightmares or tantrums. And at some point," she paused again, "he asked," she paused again, "for my hand, for allowing him to remain in Sheba's life in the official capacity and I was…" she paused once more, "tempted to accept it. But I could see it in his eyes that his heart wasn't in it, that it wasn't something he thought over how it would have looked in ten years from then. That his eyes would continue to wander around the room searching for someone who was no longer there, that he would look at Sheba and see the boy that would never grow up. I couldn't do that to him, to myself or to Sheba. I would have gained a decent husband and a doting father for my daughter, but in the process I would have lost the only friend that I had left. Not that I didn't lose him in the end," she finished with a sigh.

"You believed in his guilt," Severus pointed out.

"I also believed into Dumbledore's good intentions even when he royally screwed me over," she pointed out with a huff. "I left him, Severus, alone, with his grief, with rising levels of paranoia, and I convinced myself that it was for the best, for him, for me, for Sheba. I accepted father's proposition to marry me off to Rastaban Lestrange, and we both know where he'd been at the time of Sheba's conception…" she spat angrily.

Holding her down when he wasn't cackling that the birthday boy was finally getting some loving passed unsaid between them.

"I deserted him, too focused on my own problems, on fighting with passing time and finding means to escape my father's control. I wasn't even there when the anniversary of Mirzam's death came around. I just forgot, my sister was dead for a year and I just forgot that it was that day. After that," she paused for a moment, "it was easier to not see him, not talk to him. I read the Prophet and I convinced myself that he was doing just fine, that I didn't have to worry and I continued putting off the conversation that I knew we should have until later, later and later…" she finished with a shake of her head.

"Until you read that the Dark Lord had fallen and that Black was involved," Severus finished for her.

"And even then it didn't feel right," she admitted softly. "I saw him, with Harry, once when he was a couple months old. It was a brief sighting, but he carried himself in the same way I did when I was out of the house with Sheba. This heightened level of paranoia under the disguise of parental carefreeness that kept young children still laughing in public, even when their parents were dying from fright over what could happen. It was the only time I saw the smile on his face finally reaching his eyes, as brief as the moment had been," she paused for a moment. "I still had that image before my eyes when I was reading about how he was planning to do it for months. I still believed the reports but it wasn't until I was walking through the still warm ashes of my family home that I started to doubt them."

"And you doubted them all this time," said Severus sourly.

"I knew that he cared for them, Severus. For Potter, more than that arse had deserved it. For Lily, because I've seen them, they carried themselves around each other in the same way Aaron and I had before the work and his marriage drew us apart. And Harry was their son and his godson and somehow the boy got named with the name that Sirius and Mirzam had chosen for their son even though almost everybody that came with contact with Potter knew that the boy was supposed to be named differently," replied Bathsheda softly. "You don't turn down that kind of level of caring, not by choice, so eventually Imperius it had become. It made sense on an intellectual and emotional level. His violent reaction, abandoning his work ethic," Severus scoffed at that. "You can scoff all you want and you have right to do so but the Auror that I knew never placed the life of an innocent bystander in jeopardy, he would rather get injured himself than allow it. And trust me I heard about it, in great detail and not from him."

"Is that why you feel like you owe him?" asked Severus. "Because he was good to you?" he added sourly.

"I owed him nothing more than what he gave me in the first place," said Bathsheda calmly. "The right to tell his side of the story and nothing more. That's all I came there for and I brought you with me so you could decide yourself," she added pointedly. "You aren't the same man you were twelve years ago and neither is he. You have a common goal and common enemies so you can either be a pair of teenage twats about it or rise above it. And if there's any doubt where Sirius stands on the subject…"

"I already agreed," harrumphed Severus.

"But you didn't let go," she pointed out. "As is your right not to. No one is expecting you to. But that doesn't change that the only person you can and should air your grievances with is Sirius Black. Sooner rather than later."

**Secrets & Keepers – Entropy**

_Sirius Black, 8_ _th_ _August 1993, 12 Grimmauld Place, London._

Slipping into Harry's tea a couple drops of calming draught had been a disgustingly easy thing to do and he hated himself for doing it, but only a bit. Harry really didn't look like he was getting enough sleep and the dosage which he received was mild enough for him to nod off in a way that seemed natural.

As gently as he could Sirius laid him down on the couch. It was only really the two of them, with Regulus gone to help Snape and Bathsheda convince Dumbledore that Harry had been found. Remus and Dora also headed out, most likely to fuck, away from Sirius's judgemental looks even though Remus had claimed that it would be the safest for all of them if he waited for Dumbledore's confirmation that Harry was no longer missing before he could return.

He really should start making a dent in the library, or at the very least ascertain how many books they had on the subject of Horcruxes in there, but he didn't really want to leave Harry alone. Not after finding him contemplating that his death would make the job easier for them.

"How is he?" he heard a soft voice coming from the doorway.

He looked over his shoulder and found Snape leaning against the doorframe with an unreadable look on his face.

"Mildly suicidal," replied Sirius quietly, to not wake Harry.

"Artificial help?" asked Snape as he gestured towards Harry's half empty cup on the coffee table.

"Just the barest minimum required," answered Sirius. "He hasn't been getting enough sleep, not that our first night here didn't completely mess up his sleeping schedule."

"He plays Quidditch and fights Dark Lords in his spare time. Of course he has a sleeping schedule of a freshly graduated Healer," replied Snape softly but with a hint of sharpness in his voice.

"Thank you," whispered Sirius and allowing it to pass through his throat took a considerable effort but he knew that he had to say it.

"What for?" asked Snape sceptically.

"Keeping him safe when I couldn't," admitted Sirius softly. "You didn't sign up for it and it wasn't your duty and you had every right in the world…"

"I signed up for it," Snape snorted softly. "Granted, I was manipulated into signing up for it and not just that but I keep my word when I give it," he added with an edge of bitterness in his voice.

It was almost involuntarily, allowing his eyes to drift down from Snape's face to his left arm.

"Well, he had it coming," muttered Snape. "If he decided that Longbottom fit the prophecy better we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Yes, we wouldn't," agreed Sirius. "It's impossible to be loyal to your family, your friends, your country, and your principles, all at the same time," he added after a moment. "Sometimes something has to give."

"Your family all but deserted you, so did your friends," said Snape slowly. "Your country turned you into the worst kind of monster right after the Dark Lord himself and yet…" he paused. "What kept you going?"

"What kept you?" asked Sirius in return.

"Ultimate revenge for the death of the only person that mattered," replied Snape sourly.

"A reason as good as any," agreed Sirius quietly. "Not the only one I had but the one that got me through the worst period of time in Azkaban. Not that I was certain who I wanted to destroy other than Crouch. I still remember how dissatisfied I felt with the death of his son, the wretched cunt," he snorted softly.

"He's still alive, Crouch Senior I mean," said Snape pensively. "People say that finding his son amongst the people he hunted broke him."

"Do you believe it?" asked Sirius sceptically.

"I believe that losing the chance for ever becoming the Minister for Magic broke him more," replied Snape with a small twitch of his lips before he straightened up and walked towards the armchair. "What were you thinking?"

Ah, there it was, the real reason why Snape sought him out. Not that he didn't expect it to happen at some point. He just didn't expect that it would happen so fast.

"I wasn't," Sirius breathed out, after a long moment of silence. "Everybody kept asking, back then and in the weeks that followed. But I wasn't," he shrugged and rubbed his chin with the tips of his fingers. "Maybe it was the culmination of everything that happened that day and that stupid comment that James made and almost immediately forgot about it. He refused to accept that afterwards, especially after," he found himself grimacing and shrugging his shoulders again, "after I told him that there wasn't a thing that I wouldn't do for him if he asked."

"And in return instead of any form of recognition you were met with a cold shoulder and divorce papers," said Snape with a soft snort.

"At the very least I didn't completely antagonise him," Sirius pointed out sourly, unable to resist the jab. "Not that he ever managed to get over his fear that I would debauch him in his sleep. His horror upon finding himself naked and alone in the room with me was almost funny. At the very least it stopped him from wandering around the room with a bare arse, after five years of telling him that it was indecent," he snorted softly.

"You had a crush on him and his nakedness made you squeamish?" asked Snape sceptically.

Sirius hesitated, but only for a moment. Snape was literally the last person whom he should be telling that, but if he didn't tell him then he would be able to discover it himself, and that actually would be worse than telling him right away.

"I suffered eight years of sexual and physical abuse at the hands of my father and at the age of thirteen found myself falling for my best friend, my male best friend," replied Sirius grimly. "Of course it made me squeamish. I hated what was being done to me and instead of fixing my attention and attraction on a girl, I chose to fixate on someone whose indecency repulsed me. Funny period of time it had been," he finished with another soft snort.

"Why are you telling me this?" asked Snape sceptically.

Sirius shrugged before he replied, "Every Occlumenist to a certain degree is a better or worse Legimilimenist. Prior to Azkaban nobody but Mirzam knew about it. But Regulus figured it out and after you had left earlier so did Harry. Reg is too good an Occlumenist to notice the intrusion but Harry is an open book to leaf through. And that's something which we should amend in a very near future."

"You're asking me to teach him Occulmency?" asked Snape in a slight shock.

"Considering your history, not the basics," replied Sirius with a small grimace. "That will be between me and Reg, but teaching him how to recognise a forceful intrusion, yeah, that's something you could do."

"So can Bathsheda," said Snape pensively.

"Not something that she knew before I ended in Azkaban," observed Sirius.

"I taught her," replied Snape simply. "She was an apt student," he admitted. "She used to tinker in the past with amulets that were imbued with a small portion of her own magic but hadn't found anyone to test it on. They might prove handy if Potter's progress won't be satisfactory."

"You don't believe that it will be," commented Sirius sourly.

"Unlike you, I've had the dubious honour of teaching the boy for two years," replied Snape with a soft snort. "He's a mediocre student all across the board, not only in my subject. He has no particular talent in any academic areas and has an attention span of a goldfish over everything that isn't a snitch. His chosen electives reflect his approach to learning anything new. The only thing he has going for him is good reflexes."

"I started off with worse," replied Sirius with a grimace, remembering tutoring Pettigrew many years ago. "And unlike you I know why he isn't giving his best."

"Weasley?" asked Snape pensively.

"Don't the friends we make reflect upon us and us on them?" asked Sirius pointedly. "We had a benefit of having friends with talents in similar areas but not everybody is that lucky," he added as he nodded towards Harry.

"If you can deprogram him…" started Snape pensively.

"If I have help…" started Sirius pensively as he tried to jog his memory over something he heard from Lily in the past. "Didn't Lily throw her collection of Magical Drafts and Potions after you when you tried to talk to her during the summer after fifth year?" he asked curiously.

From the look on Snape's face he could easily tell that she indeed had and that they were still in Snape's possession. But he was at war over whether or not he should admit it out loud, and to Sirius of all people.

Clearly he needed some incentive, Sirius decided as he shook his head.

"I'm not going to tell him that she threw the whole set after you if you don't," he said simply.

Snape narrowed his eyes at him before he asked incredulously, "You would lie to your godson?"

"Well, I was taught that a harmless lie of omission is hardly a lie as long as it doesn't hurt anyone," replied Sirius with a small grimace.

He didn't like it really, but if he could convince Snape to part with a single book in order to prove a point then it would still be a win.

"And if I had it…" started Snape slowly, "what do you reckon should I do with it?" he asked pointedly.

"Present it as a peace offering?" suggested Sirius. "He doesn't have a lot of mementos left by his parents and I bet that whatever Petunia got from Lily either ended up in a second hand shop or in the trash. And who knows, maybe with the right incentive you would be able to turn a troll into a decent student."

"You're too full of dragon dung, Black," replied Snape with a small snort. "Potter will never fall for that."

"Maybe," agreed Sirius with a self-depreciating huff. "But then again, it's been a while since I had to think like a Slytherin," he quipped.

"And that's you thinking like a Slytherin?" asked Snape sceptically.

"Well, I was taught that one of the worst things you can do to someone is to present them with the solution to all of their problems," replied Sirius with a shrug. "He does have a problem that needs a solution and one that he wouldn't be able to handle himself. One that he shouldn't handle himself. But other stuff?" he paused for a moment and allowed himself a brief smile. "Lily often did her best work when told that she couldn't do it, and at times James did his under an intense terror."

"Neither of them are working," Snape pointed out. "Not for me at the very least," he added after a moment.

"I'm not surprised that they don't," said Sirius simply. "The most that I learned from Potions was from reading Lily's notes over her shoulder. That was about the only good thing from being the tallest in the class really. I didn't exactly apply that method most of the time but it came in handy when I was correcting another botched up attempt on the Animagus potion."

"How many times did you brew it?" asked Snape curiously.

"Too many times to threaten James with a brutal murder if he as much as looked at the bloody cauldron," replied Sirius with a soft snort. "Merlin, he was hopeless," he chuckled.

"No, Lupin was hopeless," Snape pointed out with a twitch of his lips. "Potter at the very least attempted to make an effort once he decided that his Potions expertise would impress Lily, not that he ever managed to rise beyond being a mediocre brewer. But Lupin was a complete disaster."

"In practice, not in understanding," Sirius pointed out. "His potions theory had been pretty sound. It was the oversensitivity that proved to be problematic during the brewing process. Caught it too late to correct that. After we graduated, Lily helped him sort out what he could or couldn't safely brew. And while I wouldn't trust the Polyjuice that he brewed, I wouldn't worry about the Pepper-Up," he said with a shrug and after a brief pause he added, "Speaking of which…"

"I already promised Dumbledore that I would supply him with the Wolfsbane Potion," replied Snape stiffly.

"For the school year most likely knowing Dumbledore," said Sirius pointedly. "Technically the full moon of 31st August and 1st September doesn't apply as it rises and sets before the school year begins."

"It will cost you a lot," replied Snape after a moment of deliberation. "Equipment I can provide, ingredients however…"

"Not a problem as soon as Kreacher manages to fetch the family goblin," replied Sirius just as he heard a soft pop and a crack behind his back.

He looked over his shoulder and saw Kreacher with Proudclaw at his side standing in the halfway.

"Speak of the devil, the goblin arrived. Let's take it out of here," he added as he stepped up, for a good measure casting a mild sleeping spell on Harry just in case Proudclaw would start to voice his displeasure right there in the hallway.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next:** A long overdue conversation with Proudclaw that addresses a couple of issues and brings a couple of surprises.


	4. Chapter 04 - The State of the Estate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius listens to Arcturus's last will and testament and discusses the state of the Potter estate with Proudclaw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Word count:** About 7600.
> 
> **Author's note:** Fair warning this one will drag in places as it is the reading of the last will and testament. Although you might find a couple of bequests interesting. And I do have a very good reason why this chapter hadn't been written from Sirius's point of vision, it's called chapter 5. And yes, it takes place on 8th August but I swear that chapter 7 does not.
> 
> **Posted on Tuesdays.**
> 
> **Beta read by Regnbuen (Nitraz).**

_There are two lasting bequests we can give our children. One is roots. The other is wings._

_~Hodding Carter, Jr._

**Secrets & Keepers – Entropy**

**Chapter four: State of the Estate.**

_Severus Snape, 8_ _th_ _August 1993, 12 Grimmauld Place, London._

He followed Black into the hallway for no other reason than curiosity. As a disinherited descendant of the Prince family and a man of fairly average income, he had no contact with goblin managers, only tellers and not very often at that. But Black, Black was a descendant of an old pureblood family and had his accounts managed by a goblin that would have been sworn into protecting the financial stability of the Black family.

As soon as Black, with Severus almost at his heels, stepped out of the sitting room, the goblin's dark eyes narrowed.

"Master Sirius Orion Black," the goblin spoke sharply before he gave Black a very tiny nod.

"Master Trygve Roar Proudclaw, son of Ulf Proudclaw II and descendant of Bodil the Peaceful," replied Black while he crossed his arms over his shoulders before he had given the goblin a bow that bore some semblance of proper Goblin etiquette that Bathsheda had tried to instil in Severus.

"At the very least your manners are intact, Master Black," replied the goblin, Proudclaw, in a dry tone followed by a quick smile that had way too much teeth for Severus's liking. "What a mess you have gotten yourself into," he added after a moment and shook his head.

"I had help," replied Black with a grimace.

"Yes, I noticed," said Proudclaw briskly. "Where should we take this conversation?"

"I'm afraid that the kitchen is the only place I can invite you to without the risk of encountering distractions as I'm sure we have a lot to talk about," replied Black.

"As long as you won't descend to the disrespectful levels of your namesake and invite me into a discussion about the state of the family finances while you bathe, it's fine by me," replied Proudclaw. "After you, Master Sirius."

Black nodded and led them down to the kitchen where at the far end of the table Bathsheda had spread out her notes. When they walked in, she looked up and frowned.

"Should we be discussing anything in the presence of the current company?" asked Proudclaw with a hint of, not exactly, sharpness in his voice, but something about the tone implied quite heavily that the continued presence of Severus and Bathsheda wasn't exactly welcomed.

Black, before he answered, looked from Bathsheda to Severus.

"Anything that you will say to me I will most likely repeat to them later on," he said finally in a crisp tone that implied that Proudclaw didn't exactly have an argument. "Per family law I'm permitted to have as many witnesses as I bloody wish."

"Except per family law they're supposed to be your relatives," Proudclaw pointed out.

"I was engaged to be married to Professor Babbling's half-sister," replied Black sternly. "It's enough of a family relation for me and it should be enough for you," he added in the same tone. "She and Professor Snape share a former family relation."

Severus opened his mouth to protest but a swift kick to the shin caught him just before any words could come out.

"And because they're my witnesses you're obliged to treat what you just learned as a family secret," added Black briskly. "Anything else?"

Proudclaw smiled at Black with a smile that showed way too much teeth before he replied, "Tea would be nice. We do have a lot to discuss."

Within the next two minutes, Severus and Bathsheda were seated next to Black on the longer side of the kitchen table while Proudclaw sat on the opposite side of them. Before each of them stood a steaming cup of tea that was quickly prepared and served by the Black's elf. Proudclaw leafed through the contents of a black leather briefcase that just appeared on the table as soon as he sat down and had adjusted the height of his seat to his liking.

Finally after what felt like ages, he pulled out a stack of parchment, and with no hurry whatsoever placed a pair of silver-rimmed pince-nez on the bridge of his nose. With a snap of his fingers, the silver looking, wide ribbon that held them together disappeared. Pulling the stack of parchment towards himself the goblin leaned slightly against the back of his chair.

"I, Arcturus Sirius Black, born 1st April 1901 to Sirius Phineas Black and Hesper Isabella Black nee Gamp on the day of 1st August 1981, while remaining in complete possession of my physical and mental faculties, by the right given to me by my forefathers, claim what follows. As per the family law I claim my grandson, Sirius Orion Black, born 3rd November 1959 to Orion Arcturus and Walburga Irma Black as my son in name, blood and magic, and pass onto him the responsibilities of his birth right and the right to lead the Black family as he sees fit. Should he predecease me and die childless, in accordance with the last known copy of Sirius Orion Black's last will and testament I claim his godson Harrison James Potter, born 31st July 1980 to James Charlus Potter and Lily Ruth Potter nee Evans, as his son in name, blood and magic, and by the rights given to me by my forefathers I name him the heir of the Black family name, blood and magic," recited Proudclaw.

"Stop right there," said Black sternly. "He claimed my godson as the Heir of the Black family?" he asked with a hint of incredulity in his voice.

"In case of your unfortunate demise," Proudclaw pointed out. "You were his heir, but other than leaving all of your possessions to your godson in your last will and testament, you didn't appoint a successor to the position of heir."

"But Harry isn't my son or a very close blood relative," answered Black. "Not that I wish to challenge this part of the will," he added quickly.

"Then why are you complaining?" asked Proudclaw dryly. "Master Arcturus was the Head of the Black family, and while the family law obliged him to name you as the Head of the Black family in his stead, with you having no blood heirs the family law allowed him to appoint the heir in accordance to your last known last will and testament," he explained as he glanced towards the briefcase. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you claim your godson as your son in blood and magic before you sealed it?" he asked pointedly. "The only thing that the boy lacks to properly fit the bill of the heir is the name, but that issue can be easily fixed. Shall I continue?"

Black nodded slowly.

"Should my grandson Sirius Orion Black accept the position as the Head of the Black family, he should receive as follows: the unlimited access to all vaults, properties, items, contracts and other documents, with the exception of those mentioned in this will. As per the family law and tradition, putting on the ring of the Head of the Black family will be considered as synonymous to verbal and written acceptance," continued Proudclaw.

Just as he finished, a small wooden casing had appeared right in front of Black, but he made no move towards it, allowing himself only a brief glance before he settled his gaze on Proudclaw again.

"Continue," he instructed.

"The bequests excluded from Sirius Orion Black's inheritance are as follows," said Proudclaw and cleared his throat. "To my wife Melania Ciara Black nee Macmillan, I leave her dowry vault that will be annually supplemented for as long as she lives, with five percent of the total earnings generated by all of the Black family owned companies. In addition to that, she will receive for her private, perpetual use as follows: the Black family estate located in Kilkee, Country Clare, Ireland; townhouse in Dublin; her favourite summer home in Sicily. On top of that, she will retain all items she received from me from the day of our marriage until my death. In addition to that, she is permitted to retain all of the servants that personally bound themselves to her. May you live long in prosperity, my dove."

"To my daughter, Lucretia Iola Prewett nee Black I leave her house in Witheridge, Devon to use it as she sees fit; widow's vault number 1; all of the servants bound to her. Additionally, for her perpetual private use, I leave behind her favourite estate in Marseille and express a last wish that one day she will be able to walk through the streets of her favourite towns like she used to in the past."

"To my daughter-in-law, Walburga Irma Black, I leave the right of remaining in the London residency for the rest of her life, or until the next Head of the Black family decides what he wants to do with it, and her. In addition she will retain the possessions she accumulated during her marriage to my son Orion Arcturus Black. I also grant her the use of widow's vault number 2 and the presence of the servant that was bound to her. Additionally, I strictly forbid her from leaving the premises of the London residency, accepting guests in there, other than family members, and for longer than three hours a month, revealing to her parents why she cannot leave or accept guests, and passing on my private message to her that follows her bequests. My most despicable daughter that I didn't wish to obtain and attain, quite frankly you disgust me, and I sincerely hope that one day your son will throw you out of your residence to where you belong, on the streets. May you spend your declining years at the mercy of people you judged unjustly. Enjoy it, I know that I will."

Black snorted out something that sounded partly like laughter and partly like a bark before he nodded at Proudclaw to continue.

"To the heirs of my uncle Phineas I leave the Black family portion of shares in companies which names can be found in appendix C and an old man's wish that you will continue finding magic in your lives as you all deserve it."

At that Black frowned.

"To Pollux Hyperion Black, my unfortunate, scheming cousin, I leave you the bitter taste of defeat; the perpetual use of your residence and personal vault for as long as you live. Please, do the world a favour and die already."

"Not much love between the two of them, was there?" asked Bathsheda with a sneer.

"Considering Pollux's attempts to usurp the title of the Head of the Black family?" asked Black pointedly. "I'm surprised that he hadn't descended to actual murder, even more so by the fact that he actually listened to him and predeceased him."

"To Cassiopeia Rosamund Black, my favourite harlot. I beg you to take no offence in this quite distasteful term of endearment. I admire your tenacity to remain yourself against oppressing forces, which is the reason why I release permanently into your care, your estate in Brighton and your establishment in Milan. In addition I also release to you your vault, as I know that you will find a good use for it."

"To my cousin Marius Phineas Black and his heirs, I leave The Equestrian Estate in Portsoy, Banff, may it serve you for many years to come. To Marius specifically I leave an open door for his heirs to the place he never had a chance to see, should they wish to see it one day, this is the code: 717."

"Is that a vault?" muttered Bathsheda. "It's a vault, isn't it? Why did he specifically gives its number?" she asked curiously.

"Because my granduncle Marius was and probably still is," said Black as he looked at Proudclaw who nodded swiftly, "a squib. So were his children. I know nothing about grandchildren but…"

"He left them an open door," whispered Bathsheda in barely contained awe. "Why?"

"Because he was against my great-grandfather's policy of disinheriting squibs, and per my great-grandmother's request, and against my other great-grandfather's wishes, he was made Marius's godfather. He never talked much about him, not when I was growing up, but one of the things that I heard from him sometimes was that magical or not, blood is still blood, and that one shouldn't shy away from the duties they had taken upon themselves," replied Black slowly.

"Doesn't that get in the way of your own inheritance?" asked Severus sceptically.

"He also said that blood is blood but law is the law, so there's that. The family law passes the inheritance down from father to the oldest son. The position of the Head of the Black family is even more restricted to the firstborn son of the male heir," explained Black.

"And with your aunt being older than your father he stood no chance to inherit the position," said Bathsheda with a nod. "Hence you."

"Hence me," agreed Black. "Please go on," he added as he turned to Proudclaw.

"Where was I…" started Proudclaw. "To Harrison James Potter, son of James Charlus Potter and Lily Ruth Potter, nee Evans, the grandson of Charlus Henry Potter and Dorea Violetta Potter nee Black, I leave as follows," then he frowned and for a brief moment stared at the page. "Oh, pardon me Master Sirius, it seems that I skipped a line… or two."

"Not a problem as I'm sure that you have a copy of the will for my personal use," said Black.

"To James Charlus Potter, son of Charlus Henry Potter and Dorea Violetta Potter nee Black, I leave the following words. Your most unfortunate father had signed the marriage contract willingly and by doing so subjected himself, you and your children to the Black family primacy, and don't you dare to ever forget that. Knowing my successor and his benevolent nature, I leave you no physical possessions just a warning: do not abuse his goodwill."

Proudclaw cleared his throat and for a moment stared at the page in front of him before he said, "This one is conditional and it seems that the conditions were met. To Lily Ruth Potter nee Evans, daughter of Harry Sean Evans and Rose Mary Evans nee Andrews, provided that between the day when my last will and testament were sealed and the day of my demise, she will either divorce James Charlus Potter or become his widow, and haven't already received it, I leave as follows: the sole custody of hers and Mr Potter's children; widow's vault number 3, that I release into her care permanently; a Black family estate of her choosing as well as one of the summer homes. All three will be excluded from the Black family estate for as long as at least one of her heirs will live."

"That's…" started Severus but found himself unable to finish, it baffled him, the conditions as much as the bequests.

"… oddly specific," finished Bathsheda for him. "Did Master Arcturus have reasons to believe that Mrs Potter would ever divorce her husband?" she asked Proudclaw.

"If he had he wouldn't have written them down," replied Proudclaw with a shrug. "The last will and testament aren't the only things he left behind. I'm sure that amongst the correspondence that he left to Master Sirius you might find a more detailed reasoning than it's my last will and testament so it's a mote point."

"I presume that it's Harry's turn," said Black simply.

"To Harrison James Potter, son of James Charlus Potter and Lily Ruth Potter, nee Evans, the grandson of Charlus Henry Potter and Dorea Violetta Potter nee Black, I leave as follows. If my death occurs when said Harrison Potter is still a minor, I leave for him trustee vault number 3 that will remain under the control of his mother or his godfather, or both, until he turns seventeen. This vault will be excluded from the Black family estate until both his godfather and Harrison James Potter agree that it should return to the Black family estate. In addition to that, upon reaching the age of legal maturity I leave for Harrison Potter an estate of his choosing as well as a summer home. Should his godfather predecease him and die childless, I also leave to Harrison Potter the position of the Head of the Black family that will be granted to him upon reaching his magical maturity, and I hereby forbid Harrison Potter from merging the Black and Potter family estates until fifty years from the day of reaching his magical maturity have passed, or until the day of birth of Mr Potter's first son. From the day of reaching his magical maturity, provided that the issue wasn't fixed beforehand, by the rights given to me by my forefathers, I grant Mr Potter the right to change his name to Black. If he wishes so he can hyphen both names in any order he chooses or completely surrender the Potter family name. My only stipulation is that as long as he's the Head of the Black family he should carry the name of Black as one of his. The same goes for his heirs and their lines."

Black nodded slowly.

"To Cygnus Pollux Black I leave only these words: you're truly your father's son and deserve the same treatment."

Black snorted softly at that.

"To Bellatrix Cruella Lestrange nee Black, I leave only the shame which you brought to our family. You don't deserve the family name, fortune, or the right to raising your children. Provided that between the day when my last will and testament was sealed, and the day of my passing, you didn't wind up in Azkaban where you actually belong, I grant you and your husband the permanent residence in Explorer's Estate on the banks of Ozero Khargy-Kyuyel…" at that Black burst out in an almost hysterical full belly laughter, "and forbid you from ever vacating the premises. Should you do so, my successor has permission to pursue and handle both of you with extreme prejudice," continued Proudclaw over Black's snickers. "Should you end up in Azkaban and be heirless at the time, by the rights given to me by my forefathers, I reclaim all of the Black family estates and vaults passed onto you and claim the entire Lestrange estate as a retribution for the failure to provide both families with an heir. My successor is to handle distribution of thereof as he sees fit between your victims."

Black still continued to snicker until Proudclaw had gotten to the part about the victims when he sobered up momentarily.

"What's so funny about Explorer's Estate?" asked Bathsheda curiously.

"Everything," coughed Black.

"Indulge me," quipped Bathsheda.

"To begin with it's about the size of this kitchen," replied Black as he glanced around. "Maybe about a meter wider. Additionally the owner of it, some distant and slightly demented great-great-great-grand uncle of mine who build it in his declining years, had lost his remaining marbles and warded it against magic, any kind of magic."

"Which excludes any magic done on the premises," nodded Bathsheda.

"But that's not all, Khargy-Kyuyel lake is located in Taymyr Autonomous Okrug, above the Arctic Circle. The nearest town is the Muggle town of Norilsk, one of the northernmost towns in the world, but the premises of the estate don't extend that far," replied Black.

"So your grandfather essential trapped Bellatrix and Rodolphus in a tiny shack in the frozen middle of nowhere that they wouldn't be able to leave?" asked Severus curiously.

"That or subjecting themselves to family judgment," replied Black sourly. "Something that neither he nor his father or grandfather ever did."

"Because they believed in the law or because they didn't have proof?" asked Bathsheda sceptically.

"I'm not sure about my great-grandfather or great-great-grandfather, but Grandpa Arcturus always believed in the legal system. He was a graduate of Institutum autem Legis, and for many years before his accession to the position of the Head of the Black family, he served as a lawyer, mostly family lawyer. He was also on the Wizengamot's list of judges but, and that's only a rumour that I heard, when I graduated from Auror training he had taken his name from that list," answered Black. "Wonder how he took my imprisonment," he mused after a moment.

"With extreme displeasure from what I happen to know about it," replied Proudclaw with a huff. "Shall we continue?

"Yes," nodded Black.

"To Andromeda Cassiopeia Tonks nee Black, in retribution for the appalling treatment she suffered at the hands of her family, and also myself, I release into her permanent care her dowry vault to do with it as she sees fit. I also release into her possession the villa in Malaga, Canterbury Estate and guardianship of the dowry vault for one Nymphadora Sadachbia Tonks."

"To Nymphadora Sadachbia Tonks, provided that her mother accepted the inheritance along with her dowry vault, I leave the residence on 76 Amwell Street, London…"

"Isn't that like a stone throw away from here?" asked Bathsheda sceptically.

"About 300 feet or so," replied Black and he frowned, deeply before he shook his head and said, "Carry on."

"To Narcissa Rosamund Malfoy nee Black, provided that she will apply for a divorce with one Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, I leave Ramsgate Estate; widow's vault number 4; sole custody of one Draco Lucius Malfoy and any other children that they both have together and guardianship of the trustee vault for them. To Draco Lucius Malfoy, provided that his mother accepted her inheritance, upon reaching legal maturity I leave the Margate Estate, minor vault, all of the Malfoy family estates that had been sized by the Black family in the divorce settlement, and the right to carry the name Black as a heir of blood and not a bastard."

"More than he deserves," muttered Severus, more to himself than to the others.

"My Aunt Belvina and her heirs were appropriately recompensed by my father so the only thing that I can offer them depends on my heir's good will to award them with an estate as he sees fit."

"He doesn't," replied Black with a snort. "Aunt Belvina upon the day of her marriage received an estate in Trevarrick, two summer homes in Italy and Portugal, and complete control over her dowry vault. I'm not going to award her sons with anything if they chose to spend the family money."

"Fairly well," quipped Proudclaw. "Moving on. To Callidora Lysandra Longbottom nee Black, I leave the villa in Palermo, Sicily and a word of advice. You married a Longbottom but you are still a Black by blood, act like it and don't let that daughter-in-law of yours boss you around."

"Per my father's request, to the heirs of my cousin Cedrella Jasmine Weasley nee Black, I leave nothing but a word of advice. Use your bloody heads to think and not your pricks."

"And here is the bequest that appears to have been changed from the originally sealed will," said Proudclaw with a twitch of his lips. "To Bartemius Caspar Crouch, son of my cousin Charis Eleanor Crouch nee Black, I leave a cercis siliquastrum tree on the entrance to his mother's favourite summer home in Neapoli and two meters of the finest nylon rope so he can hang himself to death for the crime he committed against my family. Remember Barty, an eye for an eye and a son for a son. My house will see yours extinct and in ruins. Therefore, I hereby rescind all the Black family property that the Crouch family received on the day of your mother's marriage into it and after. May Lord have mercy upon your soul because I definitely won't."

"Well he's still alive from what I know," commented Severus. "But why this specific tree? It has no magical properties," he mused.

"Yet," coughed Black.

"I presume because it's also known as Judas tree," replied Bathsheda.

"Fitting," commented Black. "What else is in there?" he asked. "It appears that he covered the entire Black family in his will."

"Next we have two Black family ward bequests," replied Proudclaw. "One made to Bathsheba Ziva Babbling."

"Oh," Black breathed out. "Had it been…" he started as he looked at Bathsheda.

She shook her head.

"The other one was redacted," continued Proudclaw with a hint of a sneer. "I presume that it was due to a variation of a Fidelius Charm or a curse. The sum however is similar to what Ms Babbling had denied. A trustee and dowry vault."

"Speaking of which," Black interjected as he looked at Bathsheda.

"Lay off," huffed Bathsheda. "I have more of dead men money than ideas for what to do with them," she added.

"Well, I beg you to reconsider," insisted Black.

"Why?" asked Bathsheda sceptically.

"Because I do is not enough of a reason?" asked Black pointedly.

"No," replied Bathsheda simply. "Why?"

"Because a lot of things and events would have been avoided if you had access to this sooner," replied Black grimly.

"I'm not a charity case, Sirius," replied Bathsheda coldly.

"You're not," said Black quickly. "You're family and I don't exactly have a lot of that left," he growled.

"Fine," Bathsheda sighed in exasperation. "Master Proudclaw, I've reconsidered."

"Much obliged," said Proudclaw dryly. "Should you wish to retain them in the vaults assigned by Master Arcturus or transfer the funds to yours?"

"Retain them in the assigned vaults," replied Bathsheda. "I need to find a good use for them."

"Perhaps you will feel inspired by Master Arcturus's ideas," quipped Proudclaw. "Where was I," he muttered to himself. "Ah, the charities," he added swiftly. "To St Mary's Hospital in London, I leave 1 million pounds sterling for their excellent services provided to the unfortunate. In addition to that bequest I leave 500 thousand pounds sterling each, to the Intensive Care Unit and Neurology Department at St Mary's Hospital in London. I also grant the Neurology Department of St Mary's Hospital in London the stipend of 250 thousand pounds sterling a year for their most talented doctors so they can continue their research on maladies of the mind and nerves. My only request is that the stipend should be named Miranda Black's Stipend to honour the loss which my family has suffered," recited the goblin. "For your notification Master Sirius is that the founds for the stipend should be awarded from the pool of total income which the Black family companies provide and that you should continue to do so for as long as you live and strongly implore your heirs to honour that bequest."

"Mhm," Black hummed in an answer and when Severus glanced at him he appeared to be deep in thought. "Continue," he added after a moment.

"To the Muggleborn Committee I leave a bequest of 500 thousand galleons to continue their tireless and ungrateful work for those that lack the benefit of a magical upbringing. However I urge you to choose wisely to which school you're sending your young charges as not all of them are led wisely. Personally I recommend making friends with Kerry Institute of Magic as it is the only school on the territory of the British Isles that offers proper education and isn't led by individuals of dubious morality."

The snorts that came out of Severus, Bathsheda and Black's mouths were almost unison.

"Not a fan of Dumbledore, was he?" quipped Bathsheda.

"To quote Narcissa: does a Hippogriff shit where it stands?" replied Black with a snort. "He wasn't quite loud in voicing his opinions on Dumbledore publicly, but he claimed enough times in my presence that Dumbledore is the worst Headmaster that Hogwarts has ever had since Phineas Nigellus Black. I didn't exactly ask for the list of his grievances with the Headmaster, not that he would have given me any. He always believed that I should develop my own opinion on people," he added grimly. "Anything else?"

"The elves," replied Proudclaw. "To Whomping and Willow I release into their permanent care the residence in Willow's Cove for the equivalent of five percent of their yearly income."

Severus frowned at that and he muttered, "Does it mean that that infernal tree…"

"Came from Black family lands?" finished Black. "How do you presume I figured out how to get past it? Although I have no idea how Dumbledore managed to obtain it."

"I might," offered Bathsheda pensively. "Your grandfather was on the Hogwarts Board of Governors for decades, wasn't he?" she asked as she turned to Black.

"And a bloody treasurer for a lion part of it," groaned Black. "Son of a bitch," he snorted. "What a bleeding moron," he groaned and he slapped his forehead.

"Your grandfather, Dumbledore or Lupin?" supplied Severus.

"Neither," snorted Black. "Myself," he added with a huff. "A tree from Black family lands, a treasurer from a Black family and a student whose special needs the board of governors had to acclimatise…" he shook his head. "Of course he knew that there was a werewolf at Hogwarts long before I figured it out. Moron, monumental moron, and I thought that I was so clever and secretive," he added and slapped his forehead once more. "Did he have any plans concerning werewolves?" he asked as he turned towards Proudclaw.

"If he had then I wasn't aware of them," replied Proudclaw with a small shrug. "What I do know however that for many years he was steadfast friend of Damocles Greengrass who was Master Belby's staunch benefactor. I hazard a guess that as it happens between friends they did share similar views on certain issues. And I only know what my brother was allowed to share with his kin which is nothing beyond what I already said, and that on certain times I was authorised to transfer a certain sum to Master Greengrass' account, and that my transfers were followed by double of that sum going out of Master Greengrass' accounts."

"Where exactly?" asked Black briskly.

"Can't say," replied Proudclaw. "But I would suggest looking up the list of charities which name Master Greengrass as their benefactor," he added dryly.

"Of course," replied Black dryly. "Is there anything else left in the will?"

"Nothing beyond instructions for the elves and a mention that should for any reason more than usual time pass between Master Arcturus's passing and your ascend to the position of the Head of the Black family, then the physical managing of the Black family estates should be done by Tommy Blackmane, Master Arcturus's steward and manservant, while financial side of the estate should be managed by me."

"Did he approach you after the will was sealed?" asked Black sceptically.

"Master Arcturus, yes. Up until the last days of December 1981. Mostly to drop letters and documents he believed you were going to need. Which reminds me…" replied Proudclaw.

"And Tommy?" Black interrupted him.

"Not at all," replied Proudclaw with a shake of his head. "On the other hand Master Arcturus always praised his services for making the Black Manor self-sufficient and independent financially should any disaster befall the wizarding world. And knowing Blackmane, he instructed his kin to follow suit."

Black nodded slowly.

"Can I move on to the most pressing issue on hand aside from the will?" asked Proudclaw swiftly. "Master Arcturus was very stern with his instructions that after the reading of the will you should get yourself acquainted with a certain letter and its accompanying package," he added.

"Of course," replied Black swiftly as he leaned forward in his seat.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" asked Proudclaw dryly as he looked towards the small wooden box in front of Black.

Black narrowed his eyes at the goblin but after a small huff opened the box. Inside it were two signet rings which details Severus couldn't see very well, because as soon as Black opened it, he picked one of them, closed the lid and slid the ring on his right ring finger. The moment the ring had slid down to Black's knuckle however, it disappeared.

"Not something that I wish to advertise for now," said Black as he noticed Severus questioning look. "What did Grandpa Arcturus believe to be so urgent that he specifically instructed you to pass the message?" he asked as he turned to Proudclaw.

In an answer, Proudclaw pulled out of his briefcase a smaller leather covered folder and a note. The note was brief and read:

_My dear Sirius,_

_As soon as you have examined the contents of that folder, you will realise why I found this issue most urgent to deal with. For the sake of those that it concerns, handle the issue with extreme care and prejudice._

_Forever your grandfather,_

_Arcturus Sirius Black_

Black placed the note aside and pulled out a stack of parchment from the folder.

"These are financial reports from the Potter family estate," he said with a frown. "How did he obtain them?"

"Because regardless of young Master Potter legal status in the Muggle world, and his dubious placing with Mrs Potter's sister, you are still considered as Master Potter's legal guardian. The majority of it are the reports from the Potter family manager that would have been sent to you, but because you weren't allowed any mail, he sent a copy of each report to your head of the family. But after your imprisonment Master Arcturus had asked for copies of earlier reports."

"How far do they go?" asked Black.

"No further than any deposits and withdrawals authorised either by Master James Potter upon reaching legal age, or his wife after their marriage," replied Proudclaw.

Black stared at the stack of parchments mutinously. Severus, not very interested in careful examination of the Potter family finances kept himself from leaning towards Black and reading the fine printed scribbles.

"Oh for Merlin's sake," muttered Bathsheda as she pulled out her wand and transfigured a spoon into a pair of glasses before she handed it to Black.

Black put them on with a grimace, which was followed by another when with a wave of her wand, Bathsheda readjusted the plain glass into Black's eyesight.

After that, Black leafed through it at a speed which Severus would have found alarming if he wasn't familiar with Bathsheda's reading speed. Granted, Black wasn't as fast as Bathsheda, but it appeared that he knew what he was looking for or at the very least had some idea. When he finally examined the last piece of parchment, he took of the glasses and looked at Proudclaw.

"Who the hell is Percival Peverell?" he asked lividly.

"Someone who led poor Urg, the Potter's manager, into developing a drinking problem and abandoning his principles enough to vent his spleen, and some of his livers to me," replied Proudclaw grimly. "From what I managed to find during my investigation, Master Peverell opened his account in Nassau, in the Bahamas, and I'm sure you have some idea how that branch of Gringotts is capable of bringing shame to our kind."

"And knowing your kind they managed to hide behind protecting their clients businesses even from you and yours," replied Black grimly. "Is Urg still alive?" he asked quickly.

"Barely," huffed Proudclaw. "He ceded the managing of young Master Potter's accounts to me upon learning that the lad first used his trustee vault, claimed that he didn't have health for it."

"And you didn't demand a meeting with him?" asked Black incredulously.

"I would have if Master Potter had been accompanied to Gringotts by anyone else," replied Proudclaw with a sneer.

"Hagrid went with him," Severus pointed out. "I'm sure that someone as shrew as you would be able to ran circles around him."

"I would if Master Hagrid hadn't been one of my bosses most valued clients," replied Proudclaw and he huffed.

"Come on," groaned Severus. "He isn't a complete moron…"

"But he knows his money," quipped Bathsheda, interrupting him. "Imagine fifty years of accumulated income that he hardly touches and his talent for obtaining illegal species. That's got to be a profitable business."

"It's a very profitable business," agreed Proudclaw dryly. "And unfortunately last year young Mr Potter was accompanied to Gringotts by people whose attention I wished not to draw."

"Because you aren't the official Potter family manager therefore you get no commissions, not that there would be any to begin with," replied Black harshly. "The state of the vaults is pretty bloody appalling."

"Master Potter's doing," replied Proudclaw with a shrug.

"I noticed," huffed Black. "What about Lily's vaults?"

"The assets remain frozen until young Master Potter reaches legal age or you change their status," replied Proudclaw. "As for why they haven't been closed?" he added slowly. "Only member of a Potter family can do that, and upon reaching legal age. The only source of income Master Potter has left are his ancestors patents, which supply both the main and trustee vault. They generate enough income to continue maintaining them, but their balance as you see is non-existent. Additionally the last one of them, the one supplying the trustee vault is set to expire on 31st December 1995."

"What about the rest of the Potter family estate?" asked Black.

"The cottage in Godric's Hollow was seized by the Ministry of Magic as a national landmark, for which Master Potter received a compensation in, I think, 1984" answered Proudclaw.

"Which promptly disappeared from the account within a week," Black pointed out grimly. "Withdrawn in its entirety by Percival Peverell. What about the Manor?"

"A most unfortunate accident," sighed Proudclaw. "Until this day I'm uncertain what caused it, and sadly by the time I investigated it, the evidence appeared to be completely gone. The official report claimed a runespoor infestation…"

"Which could be easily handled by the Potter family elves," Black interjected. "And I happen to know that there was a couple of them."

"All dead," replied Proudclaw. "Well," he hesitated. "If you want to be technical about it there's one left, a son of Dellie the daughter of old Master Potter manservant, a young lunatic by elven standards by the name of Dobby. His mother bonded with old Mrs Malfoy's manservant and died shortly after his birth. The elf had been bonded to the Malfoys but had been seen lately looking for work as a free house-elf. Not that he's been getting any, as he's demanding wages."

"Can you track him?" asked Black pensively.

"And then what should I do with him?" asked Proudclaw dryly.

"I will tell you after you tell me where the Black family house-elves are," replied Black. "Aside from Kreacher," he added when Proudclaw opened his mouth.

"I presume that those that didn't bond with other families, and chose to stay with them, and aren't at Willow's Cove has returned to Black Manor in Derbyshire per Master Arcturus's instructions," replied Proudclaw simply.

"How did my grandfather die, Proudclaw?" asked Black with a sigh.

"Legally," replied Proudclaw briskly. "That much I'm certain of. The death claim had been started by your granduncle Cygnus Black on 1st January 1992 by his statement that your grandfather hadn't been seen for ten years. No elves had answered the summons to prove any of us wrong and when about six week later I wrote Blackmane that by the laws of wizards and goblins I consider your grandfather as dead, he replied, and this is a direct quote: that Master Arcturus is in the resting place of his ancestors."

"There's a cemetery on the grounds," Black muttered. "Did you verify his death?"

"Nope," quipped Proudclaw. "Upon my last sighting of him Master Arcturus instructed me that following his visit, Black Manor would be sealed shut. Which it was because I bounced from the manor's wards like rubber ball from a meeting with a hard surface, something that hadn't happened to me since I was a young Gringotts intern in the depths of Egypt."

"But did you see the manor?" asked Black.

"The perimeter of the wards," replied Proudclaw and huffed. "And considering that I know for a fact that you were added to them as soon as the healers determined you as stable, it means nothing other than the main line of the Black family hadn't gone extinct. Which it hasn't because it's sitting right in front of me. Any other questions?"

"A couple," replied Black. "Was the will registered with the Ministry in its entirety?"

"Nope," quipped Proudclaw. "Due to the nature of the will. Master Arcturus requested that each of the beneficiaries should be made aware only of the portion of the will that concerned them. You and young Master Potter are the only people he authorised to read or listen the will in its entirety."

"How many people didn't accept their bequests?" asked Black.

"A couple," replied Proudclaw with a grimace.

"How many?" pressed Black.

"Aside from those prohibited by their age or predeceasing demise, minus Ms Babbling that thankfully came to her senses?" replied Proudclaw. "Well, that leaves mostly your cousins. Bellatrix, like you before, has no access to mail. Narcissa denied her part as did Andromeda which excluded the bequests made to their children."

"When I tell you to renew them, do so," said Black pensively. "And find Dobby, I'm authorising you to arrange whichever contract that pleases you both. Once you're done with him, send him on a cleaning route through the properties in the Mediterranean. If he's done with them before I reach out with further orders tell him to stay put in my granduncle's villa in Paris until he receives further instructions."

"Shall I inform him for whom he will be working for?" asked Proudclaw dryly.

"Tell him that it's a distant relative to young Master Potter," answered Black pensively. "Mention no other name or degree of relation between us."

"It's not as if he won't figure it out one day," replied Proudclaw.

"Probably," agreed Black. "But before he does, he has a quite a long list of viable suspects to compile and a lot of cleaning to do."

"Agreed," quipped Proudclaw. "Anything else?"

"Yes," said Black with a shark-like grin. "I would like two money boxes delivered here within the next few days. Ten thousand galleons in one and fifty thousand pounds in the other," he added briskly. "Oh, and I would like to make a deposit, from my own account, if it isn't monitored by the Ministry."

"They tried," said Proudclaw with a shrug. "They didn't succeed. Where to?" he asked.

Black turned to Severus and looked at him pointedly. Black's accounts hadn't been monitored by the Ministry but Severus's had and while they weren't being monitored anymore, the deposits being made there somehow managed to find their way to Dumbledore sooner or later.

"Sean Evans," replied Severus sourly. "Vault number 1998, access via money box registered to that name."

"And how much?" asked Proudclaw as he turned to Black who luckily didn't make a comment about Severus's chosen alias.

"One thousand galleons for now," replied Black simply.

"That's way beyond the cost…" sputtered Severus.

Black looked at him with slightly narrowed eyes.

"Consider it as a payment for the services you will provide," he replied simply.

"Indefinitely?" asked Severus suspiciously.

"That would depend on you," answered Black. "But I'm sure that we can come to a mutual agreement over the issue later on. For now I have a more pressing business to take care of," he added before he turned to Proudclaw. "Master Proudclaw, it was a pleasure to work with you and I hope that you would like to retain the position of the Black family manager under my command."

"It was something that I was looking forward to," replied Proudclaw dryly as he stood up on the chair. "I shall leave you to acquaint yourself with this," he added as he closed the briefcase, "and carry out the things you already decided. In addition to money boxes I will also arrange a mailbox for you, for an additional fee of course."

"Of course," agreed Black with a shark-like smile. "I wish you and your kin many profits and terrific health."

"As I do yours," replied Proudclaw. "Master Black, Miss Babbling, Master Snape," he added before he made a small nod towards each of them and disappeared with a loud crack.

"Can I look through it?" asked Bathsheda curiously as she pointed at the pile concerning the state of the Potter family vaults.

"Sure," replied Black quickly. "Make Reg go through it when he returns," he added.

"Why don't you tell him that yourself?" asked Severus sceptically.

"Because I have another half of the claiming ritual to complete and I would like to do so as soon as possible," replied Black stiffly. "And as much as I hate to leave Harry alone, this cannot wait."

"Okay," said Bathsheda. "What's he up to?" she asked.

"Black dosed him with a calming draught and he's sleeping upstairs in the sitting room," replied Severus.

"How is he?" she asked in concern, one that she showed to all students in need.

"Mildly suicidal," replied Black grimly. "Which is why…"

"Consider it done," Bathsheda cut him off not letting him finish. "Is he going to wake up before you return?"

"Most likely not," sighed Black. "But if he does…"

"I'm sure that we would be able to find something to occupy his attention," replied Bathsheda. "Like say checking the state of his summer homework."

Severus groaned.

"Well, good luck with that," quipped Black before he disapparated.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next:** Sirius visits Black Manor in Derbyshire, finishes claiming ritual and has a long-overdue talk with the undead.


	5. Chapter 05 - The Head of the House of Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius visits Black Manor in Derbyshire, finishes claiming ritual and has a long-overdue talk with the undead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Word count:** About 12 700.
> 
> **Author's note:** It's the longest chapter that I've written for Entropy in so far and most likely will remain as such for a longer while. I could have separated it into two chapters but the split was very uneven and rather big part of me wanted to keep all of it in one place. I might have gotten a little overboard with the use of pensieve but the issues the memories concern are better seen than heard about. And let's be serious, Arcturus is a drama queen and Sirius's mischievous streak has to come from somewhere. The timeline of this and next chapter might be tad confusing but for various reasons, I decided to keep the order in which they were written since neither of them affects the other. And yes, it's still 8th August but very soon we will say goodbye to that date.
> 
> **Posted on Tuesdays.**
> 
> **Beta read by Regnbuen (Nitraz).**

_The most important thing in communication is to hear what isn't being said._

_~Peter F. Drucker_

**Secrets & Keepers – Entropy**

**Chapter five: The Head of the House of Black.**

_Sirius Black, 8_ _th_ _August 1993, Black Manor, Derbyshire._

As he stood at the top of the small hill, just within the perimeter of the wards of Black Manor, having apparated straight there from the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, he reflected on the lessons his grandfather had taught him about people. That the most important thing in communication is to hear what isn't being said.

And he listened, Merlin, did he listen. First thing was the hunch that stirred in his gut when he heard about the bequests made to his grandmother Melania. They didn't surprise him, they were fairly mandatory all things considered. But there was something else in there, the distinct lack of information about her, specifically from Regulus. He did mention that Grandpa Arcturus had passed away but he didn't say a word about Grandma Mel. Which implied two things. One that she had died when he was out of commission or that she was still alive.

Both were quite likely. He didn't hear a lot about her in the last two years before ending up in Azkaban, but by accident he did overhear Rufus Macmillan talking to some buddy of his over drinks, saying that it was sad what happened to Aunt Mel. What precisely it was had slipped from Sirius's mind back then before he reached the bottom of his own glass, and in the chaos of everything that followed it simply slipped from his mind.

Only to come back with vengeance today. Grandma Mel, much like Grandpa Arcturus, had for many years of Sirius's early childhood felt more like his mother than his own had ever been. And sure, Grandpa was a stern teacher, but he was also fair and understanding, he didn't set goals before young Sirius that he wasn't able to achieve, and he always appreciated the efforts that Sirius made, even though the effects of the things he set before himself were far from ideal. But Grandma, Grandma was the benevolent one, the one that soothed cries, kissed cheeks, ruffled hairs and healed scraped knees or hands with the magical touch of a loving mother rather than a swift flick of her wand. Young Sirius and Regulus both adored her.

For as long as they had any use for her, an ugly thought butted in.

But there was more to it. Of course there was more to it. The bequests to Lily, to Harry, to, for Merlin's sake, the Muggle hospital in which Regulus was recovering in a coma. And while there was no specified bequest to Regulus himself… But the thing that had really taken him aback was the mention of Mirzam's birth name, Miranda Black in relation to that hospital.

The loss which my family has suffered, his grandpa had called her demise. My family, not a word that Grandpa Arcturus lavished on people that weren't technically family, but to use it in relation to a seeming Muggleborn? Unheard of, just like had been awarding the sole custody of James and Lily's children to Lily in a divorce.

So he continued asking and the more he asked the more certain he became that there was something fishy about Grandpa Arcturus's death. For Merlin's sake, it was a ministerial death claim, and they were hardly accepted anymore, especially by goblins, even more so considering the family wealth.

It was just his luck that prior to ascertaining that he had put on the Head of the Black family ring, he managed to use a mild Confundus charm on the room, for neither Bathsheda, Snape nor Proudclaw to find it alarming, that from that moment forwards visiting the manor had moved from long-term plans into something that needed to be done immediately.

Luckily he had an excuse in the completion of the family ritual, and as they differed from family to family, Bathsheda couldn't suspect how much leeway in finishing it he had, and accepted his haste as something obvious.

And as much as he hated leaving Harry behind, there were some things which needed to be done before moving forward with anything else. Like checking how dead the dead man was.

The manor loomed in the distance, a spread out stone mansion, very Georgian in design as it was the style which Sirius's great-grandfather and his namesake had decided suited the family best. In previous incarnations it used to be a wooden hillfort, and once upon a time, a castle that had been demolished over and over by new generations of the Blacks until it was decided that no further change to the building's structure would be made that would drastically affect the building.

It suited Grandpa Arcturus just fine and the only drastic thing he had done, that would surely have pissed off his own father, was adding a garage for the automobile which he obtained prior to taking his job as England's ambassador in Czechoslovakia. It was a black Rolls-Royce Silver Cloud, slightly menacing, because obviously, if a Head of the Black family was supposed to travel like a Muggle then at the very least he should do so in style. Not that young Sirius complained, because the car had been awesome and he spent many tranquil hours in there, watching how Muggle villages were passing by while next to him at the wheel, Grandpa Arcturus was either showing other motorists that they were no match for him, or lazily gliding at a leisure speed.

That said, there wasn't any nook or cranny within a one hundred mile radius from the manor which at one point or another Sirius didn't visit. Regulus didn't mind the car, but only joined Sirius and Grandpa if Grandma was also coming for the trip. At the age of thirteen Sirius also learned how to drive that car, but only on the premises of the manor, and at glacial speed. Not that he minded.

He shook his head, dismissing the memories of his childhood before he leapt forward, transforming into Padfoot mid-air. Technically on the premises of the manor he was safe, but he didn't exactly wish to attract anybody's attention.

After all, the chief weapon of the Spanish Inquisition was surprise. Surprise and fear, and an almost fanatical devotion to the pope.

He made his way to the manor in a slightly roundabout way, through the groves and clusters of trees by the main road to the manor, a path he'd run through many times as a child when playing hide and seek. It was an excellent road for Padfoot, much less the beanpole that Sirius had always been and soon enough he found himself by the main entrance to the manor.

In the afternoon sunlight, with windows gleaming in partially reflecting light, the manor looked inviting and not at all menacing in spite of its size.

I'm home, sprang to his mind. And he was. The manor was the only home in the Black family which he had known, with people whom he didn't fear or hate. This was the only place he had been happy aside from Hogwarts, or his tiny flat in a very brief period of time when both his heart and his head had been in the right place.

And now, he was returning here as its master, or master of the master depending on how dead his grandfather actually were. If Grandpa was watching, and it was highly likely that he was, then he only had one chance at making a new first impression.

He transformed back into his human form, transfiguring his shirt and jeans into something that bore some semblance of his old, black Auror uniform, before, after a moment of hesitation, he transfigured a leaf he picked from the ground into a cloak.

Properly attired, as a Black should be, he stepped out of the grove and into the wide path leading towards the entrance.

No one had disturbed him during his walk to the front door, which had opened just as he extended his hand, as they should. He wasted no time in admiring the entrance hall, only making a note of the vases filled with fresh flowers that decorated it. From there he continued deeper into the manor, to the inner stairwell that lead down to the basement.

Heading down, he passed the cellars, wine and storage respectively, and spared only a brief glance at the door leading to the holding cells, which to his knowledge had never been used, until he reached the bottom floor of the basement level. It was the level, which for Regulus had always been perplexing as it ended with solid walls on all sides.

But to Sirius, the Heir of the Head of the Black family, there was something in there which Regulus couldn't see. Straight ahead from the last turn of the staircase, there was a set of mahogany double doors that had always been locked.

This time, they both opened wide as soon as he extended his hand towards them to try and cast an opening charm. He passed through with no hesitation in his step, except for the one that he felt in his soul. Once he was inside, the door closed shut and darkness surrounded him.

He took a deep breath through his nose and slowly let it out.

"I'm your master, show me," he whispered into the room.

For a moment nothing happened, and then, very slowly, a small slivery light appeared on the wall opposite to the door. He passed through the room, narrowly avoiding a collision with that bloody ritual bowl that he knew he would find in there, and on the tapestry that covered the wall on his eye level, he found his own name covered in a soft silvery glow.

Squinting, he glanced to the right of his name and found nothing alarming, or true, he realised as he found Regulus's name with both his birth and death dates under it. Then bypassing his father he glanced up at Grandpa Arcturus's name, only to find it also adorned with birth, and supposed death dates.

He snorted under his breath and held up his left hand, palm slightly raised before he slashed it open with a flick of his wand. Then he pressed his bleeding palm against the tapestry.

"Show me the truth but keep it here," he commanded as he willed his magic into the wall.

In response, the family tree lit up like a Christmas tree with sudden zigzagging flashes of gold and silver before it settled into emanating a soft pale glow.

Immediately his eyes settled on Grandpa Arcturus's name, now missing his supposed death day.

"Conning old bastard," he snorted to himself as he looked lower to glance at Regulus.

Except then his eyes had stopped on his own name, and then the golden thread that linked his name with that of Miranda Black.

The loss which my family has suffered, echoed through his mind.

He stared at it, but it didn't change. Neither had it changed after he blinked a couple of times. He was still married to Miranda Black, well at some point, as the tree didn't specify neither the days of marriage or birth and death dates for spouses.

And there was only one Miranda Black that he knew.

Now would be the best time to show up, he thought frantically as he tried to summon the ghost apparition of Mirzam.

"What for?" he received in an answer. "It's not as if I would be able to confirm or deny anything. I'm only the delusional apparition of her memory, nothing more."

But one that woill be able to jog my memories of her, he pointed out, not daring to say it out loud in case that old scheming fart hovered somewhere in the shadows.

"Why does it matter?" she asked. "It's not as if some thread on the tapestry changes the fact that I'm dead."

It changes things for me, he objected. What could possibly have led him…

"Why don't you ask him instead of me?" she offered. "He's the one that has been sitting on it for a number of years, and considering that there are no legal documents confirming our marriage that you know of, then it had to be done the old fashioned way."

And as the Head of the Black family he would have to participate in it, he agreed.

"Good talk," she agreed with a soft chuckle.

He shook his head, finally allowing himself to look at Regulus's name, now missing the day of his supposed death. For good measure, he also looked around, confirming to his intense relief that his father was still dead, as was his mother and a number of his other relatives.

Once he reached some semblance of calmness, he stepped away from the family tree and turned towards the ritual bowl. He approached it with no hesitation and placed his wounded palm at the bottom of it.

"I, Sirius Orion Black, son of Orion Arcturus Black, grandson of Arcturus Sirius Black, claim the position of the Head of the House of Black as my birth right and honour bestowed on me by the former Head of the House of Black. I swear to lead it with justice and the integrity expected of me. I swear to not turn away the lost, the unwanted, the scorned, the wounded, the suffering, the overlooked. I swear to uphold the honour of the Black family justice code, and to not abuse it. I swear to destroy our enemies and to aid our allies. That is my promise to my ancestors and I swear it in my words, blood and magic. Et in nomine patris et fili. Semper nigreos. Et in nomine patris et fili. Pater meus Arcturus Sirius Black, fili mi Harrison James Potter. Et in nomine patris et fili. Meum nomen est Sirius Regulus Arcturus Black et heredes mei memores. Et in nomine patris et filii, et sanguinem magicae."

As he was spoke, he could feel his blood draining into the bowl in a steady stream that left him light-headed enough to cling to the stone pillar on which the bowl stood on. But he prevailed and didn't collapse, even though black spots started to dance before his eyes.

Just as he spoke the last word of the oath, he felt the blood rushing back into his wound and further into his body, and with blood came magic. Heady, dark and menacing magic that drowned his senses and almost made him scream.

"You're not my master," he choked out through gritted teeth. "I command you, not the other way around. I will summon you when I need you."

And just like that, the magic left, fleeing into the ring like it was supposed to, only to be summoned in the dire need of family judgement. Barely a second after that his knees gave up and he slid down the stone pillar to the floor.

Not something that I would have subjected even that bloody lunatic to, he thought to himself. No wonder why Grandpa never used it.

As in a response, the ring throbbed gently and warmed up slightly.

"Oh, shut up," he growled. "You're dead, and this family is mine to command now. So if I choose to never summon you, then it's my choice and my right. Although if you behave I might reconsider judging Bella, so calm the fuck down."

In response to that, the ring throbbed once more and quickly grew as cold as it was supposed to be.

"First sign of madness, talking to oneself, dead people or inanimate objects," he muttered out loud.

Not that you were a paragon of mental health to begin with, he could almost hear Regulus saying.

"Moving on," he said to himself as he hoisted himself from the ground.

Although he could now apparate all over the manor as he fucking pleased, he chose to head upstairs the old fashioned way, and the further he walked away from the heart of the manor the more at peace he felt.

Once he was on the ground floor again, he looked around, wondering where he could find his grandfather. The most logical hiding place, at the very least for Grandpa Arcturus, was either the library or in the studies. Opting to look for him in the latter first, Sirius turned left from the staircase to the part of the manor that overlooked the lake.

On the ground floor and opposite ends of the family wing, were two rooms that Grandpa Arcturus used as study. The one that was located just off the entrance hall was a lavishly but tastefully decorated room meant for meeting business associates, and hardly ever used for anything else. It had a splendid view at the edge of the lake and the main road leading to manor's entrance. According to the stories that Sirius had heard, this particular office had been favoured by his namesake, as his great-grandfather preferred knowing the comings and goings of both the family members and servants.

The study that Grandpa Arcturus favoured was located on the opposite end of the wing to that one. It was just as big as the other and decorated with a mixture of taste, practicality and a little bit of luxury. As the last room of the wing, and due to the unfortunate placing of the fireplace and entrance to orangery, it didn't have direct access to the corridor that ran along the wall of the inner courtyard. The only access to the room was through the orangery itself or Grandma Mel's little study, which Grandma used for writing letters, and family miscreants used as a waiting room before a talk with Grandpa.

Bypassing the door to Grandma's study, Sirius passed through the open door to the orangery, making a note of the blooming clementine trees in their pots that stood between the entrance to the orangery and the entrance to Grandpa's study. Clementines were Grandpa's guilty pleasure, and pride and joy of Nina, the main gardener. And just like there was no amount of clementines that Grandpa Arcturus couldn't put away, for Nina there was no shape absurd enough to shape the growing trees into. The potted trees, like he expected them to, came in various sizes and shapes, but the giant clementine tree in the middle of the orangery stood untouched, just like when he saw it last, weighed down by a heavy coat of flowers. In the far corner of the orangery he also spotted pomegranate tree, a couple modest sized orange trees and forever solitary grapefruit one.

Some things never change, he mused as he reached out towards the handle that clicked open and opened before him.

The room in which he found himself hadn't changed much since the last time he saw it. The big leather couch in front of the enormous fireplace, located in the left corner of the room, looked as inviting as ever, even though the fireplace itself was cold and empty. Floor to ceiling bookcases covered all the inner walls and the room was filled with armchairs and side tables. In the corner where the outer walls met, stood a huge desk that curiously enough was devoid of any paperwork, a sight so unusual that it made Sirius frown before his gaze settled on the man himself.

Grandpa Arcturus stood by the window closest to his desk with his back turned to Sirius. His hair, jet-black that Sirius had remembered, was steel grey but like always tied up into a neat ponytail just over the nape of his neck with a narrow black ribbon. Like always however in a home setting he wore no outer robe favouring very Muggle looking combination of dark trousers, implacably white shirt and a dark vest. Had it been later in the day, and after dinner, the vest would have been exchanged into one of the dressing-gowns.

For a very brief moment Sirius felt as if no time had passed, and instead of nearing thirty-four (well, by a long stretch, but still his thirty-fourth birthday was closer than further in time) he was nearing sixteen again.

An illusion, he told himself firmly as he stepped fully into the room and closed the door with a loud thud.

"Sirius," Grandpa Arcturus said softly, turning over his left shoulder towards Sirius.

"Grandpa," replied Sirius curtly as he looked at the older man.

It seemed as if for the man, no or hardly any time had passed. Even from a distance, he looked just as lean as he had been in Sirius's memory, and Sirius could hardly see any new lines on his face.

"What's your name?" asked Arcturus quietly as he looked at Sirius expectantly.

Sirius could hardly resist a smirk but he only allowed his lips to twitch slightly before he replied simply, as if he was making an observation about the weather, "Sirius Regulus Arcturus Black."

"An interesting choice," Arcturus observed carefully after a brief moment of silence.

"Better than the one I was dealt on my naming day," replied Sirius, doing his best to keep the ice he felt in his soul at the thought of his father, from his voice, and knowing that he was failing miserably. "I want to have nothing to do with the man you called son, and while I cannot change the blood I can change the name."

"I know," sighed Arcturus heavily.

Sirius's blood ran cold and he barely kept himself from spitting out the question, "He admitted?"

"He?" asked Arcturus grimly. "Have you met him? He would have denied being on fire even if he was burning to death," he added with a snort. "No, my dear boy, it wasn't him. It was Miranda."

"Speaking of whom…" started Sirius briskly.

"How about we sit down and handle it like adults?" offered Arcturus as he gestured towards the desk.

"I'd rather stand if you don't mind," replied Sirius coldly knowing very well how exactly Grandpa would sit them down.

"Your house, your rules," sighed Arcturus.

"Start from the beginning," Sirius ordered him.

"Which one?" asked Arcturus pointedly. "Because there are a couple of them."

"Miranda," grunted Sirius.

Arcturus stepped away from the window to lean against the wall next to it before he answered, "I knew who she was the moment your head had turned towards her when we came to pick you up after your first year. The likeness was…" he paused "overwhelming," he finally decided on a word.

"To whom?" pressed Sirius.

"Abigail Sarah," sighed Arcturus heavily.

"Surname," muttered Sirius.

"Abigail Sarah… Babbling," he added the surname as if he wasn't sure if he could say it, "an old friend of your grandmother. Poor thing," replied Arcturus and sighed again.

"What happened to her?" asked Sirius.

"Her brother," replied Arcturus with a snort. "She was younger than him, much younger. Like the rest of them she was a Ravenclaw, smart, talented… and attractive."

Something heavy had settled in Sirius's stomach.

"He raped her, didn't he?" he whispered softly.

"Many times," confirmed Arcturus grimly. "One of those rapes concluded in a pregnancy just after she graduated from Hogwarts. Couldn't stand even the thought of bearing her brother's child. So one day shortly after she found out, she took your grandmother out to their favourite look out point, not too far from Hogwarts, and handed her a letter detailing everything that her brother had ever done to her, told her to read it while she would go for a solitary walk. She threw herself into the ravine just as Mel finished reading her letter."

"I'm sorry," whispered Sirius.

"So am I," sighed Arcturus heavily.

"And Solomon?" asked Sirius grimly.

"When I presented the copy of the letter to him and his father, he claimed that they were the ravings of a lunatic. Abigail's mother had been a Selwyn, one of the touched in the head ones as they had claimed. David, the idiot, believed his son over me and his own daughter. I left the copy of the letter with him, in case he changed his mind, but the original has been in my possession for ages. Came in handy every time I needed to wrangle something out of that sycophant."

"Like say warding an old house in Hogsmeade for the use of one teenage werewolf?" asked Sirius pointedly.

"That was a joint effort," admitted Arcturus with a grimace. "And one that, in retrospect, I could have done myself but I wasn't certain at the time," he paused, and with another grimace he added, "Well, hindsight is always 20/20."

"Why would you do that?" asked Sirius curiously.

Arcturus stared at him, clearly not expecting this kind of question from Sirius.

"Because it was a decent thing to do?" he offered finally. "And correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't Remus Lupin one of your friends?"

"Who he was doesn't matter," replied Sirius stiffly. "What matters is why you signed on it? You, with your everything…" he gestured around the room.

"I could never deny solid reasoning, especially when it was something that came out of the mouth of one of my oldest and probably most sincerest friends," replied Arcturus with a shrug. "Damocles Greengrass had for many years an idea for a social experiment concerning packless, underage werewolves. It wasn't exactly something that either your great-great-grandfather or Dippet would have signed on, or something that a man of his political position would have proposed to anyone, but…" he paused. "When Dumbledore came to the four of us with a proposition to admit one such a child, and a descendant of one of the former graduates, I knew where he stood. He had no problems with convincing the other two, and he knew that I was only protesting for the sake of appearances, but you remember him… There was no law that could prevent the boy from being accepted to Hogwarts, as long as the school could provide for his special needs."

"Ones that I'm quite sure required some expenses, didn't they?" asked Sirius pointedly.

"They did," agreed Arcturus. "But I didn't spend over fifty-five years in the position of treasurer because I couldn't have easily overthrown whichever idiot was in charge at the time."

"Because the one who controls the source of money actually controls everything else," supplied Sirius with a quick smile. "I do remember certain things."

"I'm glad that you do," replied Arcturus with an answering quick smile. "Not that my job had actually been easy once that twinkling scumbag ascended into the high chair. But at the very least he proved to be a challenging opponent, and constant attempts to restrict his schemes allowed me to flex my creative thinking. And as long as I could thwart his elaborate plans to swindle money out of the board, I had no problems with reaching into my own pocket. Not that I had to do it often."

"Did it work out?" asked Sirius pensively. "The social experiment I mean."

"I'm afraid not," replied Arcturus with a grimace. "We were so concentrated on the end goal that we forgot to factor into the social experiment the social part of the equation. Let's just say that we all agreed that the experiment shouldn't be repeated ever again."

Sirius lowered his head.

"As for Miranda," started Arcturus slowly. "Her sister was fortunate enough to have her features smoothed out by Ruth Babbling's distinct Irish beauty, but just in case, every year, on the anniversary of Abigail's death, until the girl entered Hogwarts, I sent a copy of the letter to Ruth. Merlin only knows that at the time I believed that I was doing what I thought was best for them."

"She told you," guessed Sirius, softly in a voice barely audible to his own ears.

"It came out at some point," sighed Arcturus. "In an explosion of expletives concerning the state of my brain. Something to which she voiced once she felt secure in her position."

"And that position was precisely which one?" asked Sirius pointedly, a little louder than before.

"How well do you remember your extended stay in St Mungo's shortly after your graduation from Auror training?" asked Arcturus in return.

"Bits and pieces," admitted Sirius grimly. "Mirz… Miranda holding my hand, telling her how much she meant to me, listening to her telling me how much I meant to her," he whispered. "It gets fuzzy later on."

"With good reason," sighed Arcturus heavily. "Why don't you let me show you?" he asked as he gestured towards the stone basin that stood on the desk.

"I'm not getting into it with you," objected Sirius.

"Oh relax, it's an old family invention so it doesn't work like others do," said Arcturus swiftly. "Shall we?" he asked.

Sirius grunted in reply. He didn't like the idea very much, but it was better to comply than object because knowing Grandpa he would have ended with complying anyway.

Arcturus waved his wand towards it and from the basin a silvery mist lifted, transforming the room around them but only slightly. The changes in the room were miniscule. The furniture didn't change but the grey wallpaper of present day was sage green with tiny white accents. The curtains that in present moment were pearly white, in the memory had the colour of graphite grey. The only furniture that changed place were a couple of armchairs in the corner of the room, by the entrance to Grandma's study, but their placing was something that changed on a regular basis.

But the desk in the opposite corner of the room to the fireplace, remained where it had stood for ages, and just as Sirius remembered it was covered with piles of parchment. At the desk, with hair as jet black as a raven's wing, sat a much younger Arcturus.

Sirius glanced at the real Arcturus. He had no idea how old the memory they were viewing was, but considering that Mirzam had been dead for thirteen years, and he asked Sirius about his stay in St Mungo's that happened over fourteen years ago, the memory should be taking place sometime between these two. Overall he didn't change much, aside of losing the blackness of his hair to Black family version of greying and gaining a couple of new and not very deep lines, his back was as ramrod straight as Sirius remembered and he was still a tall and lean gentleman.

Arcturus of the memory appeared to be quite busy with the paperwork on his desk, scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment before reaching for another to check something, before he returned to scribbling. At the very least until he was interrupted by a knock on the door, followed by the entrance of a house-elf. Judging by the way in which the tuft of white hair was tied back, it was Tommy the Blackmane, Arcturus's personal manservant, and as Sirius recently had learned his steward. Just like Sirius remembered, Tommy was wearing a quite nice grey shirt that was tied around his middle with a narrow black belt.

"Yes, Tommy," asked the younger Arcturus.

"Master Black has a visitor," said the elf. "The one who wrote to the master today. Should Tommy send her away or does Master Black wishes to see her?" he asked in a sceptical tone.

"She did want to speak to me," replied Arcturus.

"Tommy's Mam always said that what one wants and what one gets aren't always the same," said the elf. "Tommy will show her in. Would Master Black require tea?" he asked. "Master's teapot appears to be empty."

"Thank you," said Arcturus. "I didn't even realise that."

"Should Tommy provide a second cup?" asked the elf.

"Do so but make it invisible for the time being," replied Arcturus.

The elf pointed his finger at the tea tray which disappeared before he marched through the room and then through the door, closing it behind himself. A moment later a new tray with a solitary teapot appeared and Arcturus poured himself a cup.

About a minute had passed before the elf appeared in the room again, leading behind himself Mirzam, and although Sirius felt mentally prepared for seeing her, he couldn't help but let out a shaky breath when he saw her. She was wearing a utilitarian uniform, similar to the one that Sirius was wearing now. The only difference between them was that she was wearing a cape instead of a cloak, that billowed slightly after her as she walked.

Unable to resist the desire to continue looking at her, Sirius followed her and the elf to Arcturus's desk and stopped by the narrow side so he could look at both Mirzam and the younger Arcturus. Older Arcturus meanwhile stepped to the other side of the desk.

The elf led her to the armchairs that were standing in front of the desk, but made no move to invite her to sit down before he bowed his head and disappeared. For some reason she remained standing before the desk, her back ramrod straight, arms hanging by her sides in a way that was supposed to appear at ease, but one only had to look at her slightly clenched right fist to realise that she was far from relaxed.

"Lord Black," she said in an even voice as she slowly uncurled her fingers from a fist.

"You wished to see me, Auror Black?" asked younger Arcturus in equally even tone.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she all but glared at the man and briefly opened her mouth only to close it again a moment later, as if she changed her mind about what she was going to say.

"It's Auror Verascez," she said finally, in a tight voice. "Mirzam Verascez. I'm not expecting the courtesy of acknowledging me by my first name but I do request honouring my legal name."

"And Miranda Black is your legal name, is it not?" asked Arcturus in a tone that almost sounded bored. "Much more appropriate for someone of your ancestry than that garish pseudonym under which you're known. Verascez stands for truthful in Spanish, does it not?" he paused. "Ironic name for someone who hides their true identity from other people. Then there's Mirzam, the herald, of what precisely may I ask?"

"Verascez is the name of my adoptive father, a surname as ironic for him as you claim it's ironic for me. His name is Clemente and he was anything but such. His wife's name is Immaculada, just as ironic. But I didn't come here to discuss my right to carry whichever name I chose to go by, Lord Black," she said in a calm, even voice that somehow managed to border on icy.

"Then pray tell, Auror Black," said Arcturus calmly, laying all of the accent on the surname, "what brings you here?"

She took a slow, steading breath before she said softly, "It's your grandson, Lord Black."

"My grandson," Arcturus repeated the word. "What do you wish to tell me that I haven't already heard through the grapevine? That he didn't put himself in harm's way because of you?" he paused. "A friend of his has been heard making comments about his slow but steady recovery…"

"Wouldn't that friend happen to be named James Potter?" she asked flatly.

"Yes," confirmed Arcturus. "A good friend of his from what I heard, and a relative, in case you didn't know."

"I do know, Lord Black," she replied in the same flat tone, "seeing that I supported your grandson through their latest spat that steamed out of Mr Potter's inability to accept their relation. Haven't you heard about that too?" she asked.

"I'm afraid not," said Arcturus slowly. "I did hear about the passing of Fleamont and Euphemia though. I just assumed that the distancing from his friend was a sign of grief. I expected them to tell their boy about their relation to his friend a couple of years ago."

"Well, they didn't, and for some reason Mr Potter decided to hold your grandson accountable for the decision of his de facto parents. As if he was a deciding party in it, considering that at the time of Mr Potter's birth he was barely strong enough to sit on his own," she replied.

"My mistake as much as theirs," admitted Arcturus. "If not greater," he sighed as he rubbed his temple.

She said nothing.

"And you're neither confirming nor denying that I made one," added Arcturus slowly.

"I'm in no place to judge your actions, Lord Black," she said simply. "Whatever you did, for whatever reason you had chosen as valid, you gave Mr Potter a loving home and happy and unrestrained childhood. Something that your grandson quite justifiably envied."

"And for that you judge me," said Arcturus harshly.

"Not you, Lord Black, his parents," she replied calmly. "You I judge for your inability to see their faults because if you had, at any given point of time, it wouldn't have been the Potters household to which your grandson would have fled but yours. But that's not the subject of our discussion as I'm sure that in the passing years you came to regret it."

"Then what it is?" sighed Arcturus.

"His recovery," she said slowly.

"Not as steady as it's supposed to be?" asked Arcturus cautiously. "But wouldn't Mr Potter be aware of his state as his next of kin…"

"He would have been aware of his state if he indeed was your grandson's next of kin. As things stand your grandson revoked that privilege following their spat to a slight relief of our administration. They aren't exactly fond of having their unmarried Aurors handing the status of next of kin and power of attorney to people unable to recognise the direness of certain circumstances. The privilege of being your grandson's next of kin and the power of attorney instead has been handed to me," she replied calmly.

Arcturus motioned at her to sit down, finally. She did so, choosing the armchair on her right, finally slouching slightly even though she didn't lean back.

"As things stand everything that Mr Potter hears from your grandson's healers is filtered through me and I…" she hesitated. "I told them to relate to Mr Potter and the rest of his friends only the things that relate to his current state and not his prognosis."

"I won't ask why, as I do know the boy," muttered Arcturus. "What's Sirius's prognosis?" he asked and he sounded genuinely concerned.

"Bleak," she whispered softly. "He is stable now but getting weaker with each passing day and…" she hesitated and clasped her hands together in such tight hold that her fingers paled. "The curse in front of which he stepped…" she hesitated again. "The healers claim that it would kill him within three weeks if he's lucky and a fortnight if he's not. He receives blood replenishing potion every six hours right now and within two days, three at the most the dosage will be increased to every four hours. Within a week they're expecting him to require the transfusion variant and already asked me if I would be able to contact a willing donor…" she paused again.

"So you came here to ask for my blood," said Arcturus slowly.

"No," she said softly.

Arcturus frowned and he whispered back, "No?"

"I already made contact with the willing donor," she explained slowly. "He doesn't know that I will ask him for it but I have no reason to doubt his willingness to extend your grandson's life."

Arcturus's frown deepened for a moment only to give way to a thoughtful expression before he nodded and said softly, "Regulus."

She nodded slowly.

"Then what did you come here for if not blood?" asked Arcturus pensively. "To tell me that if I want to pay my respects to him then I should do so now rather than later on?"

"No," she replied quickly.

"No?" repeated Arcturus praising her denial as a question. "Why did you come here then, Auror Black?"

She took a deep breath and slowly let it out before she opened her mouth only to close it again as she closed her eyes.

"Your grandson," she started slowly, "was hit with two curses simultaneously. The first that hit him was Acid Spear of Jerusalem, caught him right in the chest, causing him to stumble into the path of the curse that was meant for me…"

"Acid Spear of Jerusalem to that area alone should have killed him instantly," said Arcturus softly.

"It almost did," she replied softly. "His heart stopped beating immediately and he collapsed. We had no potions on us and our healer training was rudimental at best. Nothing that went beyond what Madam Pomfrey taught all of the Auror candidates. So I had to resort to Muggle CPR, I got him steady enough for transport but in St Mungo's his heart stopped again, the healers managed to stabilize him but informed me quite sternly that most likely he wouldn't be able to survive the night," she paused to take a deep breath. "But he pulled through and for a while it looked like he was getting better…"

"Before his health took a turn to worse," finished Arcturus quietly. "What was the spell that was meant for you?"

"Blood Purifier," she whispered.

Arcturus paled considerably.

"It took the Healers two days to find it and two minutes to disillusion me that they would be able to provide him with more than palliative care," she said quietly. "Had he been in full health when the curse struck him the progress of the course would be hindered and it would have taken him between two to three months to succumb to it."

"Closer to six," sighed Arcturus. "Blood Purifier is a slow and deceptive murder weapon, Auror Black. Luckily it was quite treacherous to the caster too which is why it was lost in the darkness of history. It still lives in the memories and libraries of wizards of old though."

"I know," she whispered.

"And that's why you came to me," said Arcturus slowly as he looked her in the eyes. "As much as it pains me, I have to disappoint you, Auror Black. My family preserved the memory of the curse's existence and its likely outcome. A couple of my ancestors have lost their lives to it and a couple more of them devoted their life to trying to come up with a counter to it, but none of them succeeded," he added grimly.

"There's got to be something, Lord Black," she said earnestly.

"I'm afraid there isn't," replied Arcturus slowly in a soft, barely audible voice. "I'm sorry."

"Please," she choked out.

"You have no idea what you're asking for, Auror Black," said Arcturus softly.

"Please," she repeated. "I would do anything if only there's a chance to save him. That's all I'm asking for, Lord Black."

Arcturus stared at her for a long moment.

"You're young, Auror Black. You have your entire life ahead of you. Why you're willing to throw it away for him?" he asked finally, in a calm, soft voice.

"If that's what it would take to save him," she said softly. "Then so be it."

"It's your life," repeated Arcturus.

"That I owe to him in the first place," she replied calmly. "If you know my name then you know what became of my family."

"I do and I'm sorry for your loss," said Arcturus quietly.

"That loss is painful still but it was because of him that I avoided losing my life," she said in the same calm tone. "He saved my life, at no expense of his own after giving it back to me in the first place," she paused for a moment. "We were children that couldn't be more different even if we tried and yet," she paused again, "we found in each other something that the other found lacking. He found a jaded little girl that all she could see was the miserable existence under the care of people I wouldn't have trusted with a potted plant, much less a group of children. He gave me hope for a better future in a world where my parents couldn't touch me or my brothers. All I had to do was to wait for the right time," she paused once more. "I loved him for that alone, with all the fierceness of a child starved for being seen as something more than an inconvenience or…" she choked on words. "He saved me from myself, from the darkness that was slowly starting to consume me even though I didn't know that at the time."

For a moment she remained silent, and Arcturus did nothing that would have broken the silence in the room.

"But when we arrived at Hogwarts, the boy that I knew and grew to love was gone, replaced by a boy that looked like him, spoke like him but was nothing like the caring, patient boy I knew. He was spiteful, arrogant, and as I soon learned, cruel," she continued. "So when he finally approached me, calling me by the name I no longer used, I told him to go back to his friends and never bother me again. Which he did, five years we spent apart, not exchanging more than a couple of sentences during classes, until one day while I was at work I found him. He was miserable, terrified and deserted by his friends and family. I couldn't help but to reach out, for nothing more than old times sake," she paused for a moment. "And little by little I found the boy I knew again. I let him rant and rave and cry, and before I realised it, I had learned more about him in a matter of days than all of his friends had learned in a span of six years. He trusted me with stuff which he couldn't bring himself to share with them. He bared his soul, his heart and his mind to me and I found myself doing the same. I told him things I never shared with anyone, and when his friends deserted him completely, I was there for him when no one else was," she paused again and took a deep breath. "My Grandma, may she finally rest in peace, told me that the opposite of love is not hate, rather it is indifference, because if you hate someone that means that you still care for them and that you still remain connected. I didn't stand a chance and that's your answer. I'm willing to throw my life away for him because without him I have no life. As much as it offends your sensibilities he's it for me."

For a long moment nothing but silence filled the room.

"You love him," said Arcturus finally.

"I thought that I made it blatantly obvious," she replied calmly. "If you want me to beg for his life, I will," she added softly. "I will beg even though I've never begged for anything."

"And you're willing to do anything to save him," said Arcturus slowly. "Are you aware that by wizarding standards anything literally means…"

"Anything," she finished steadily.

Suddenly the scene before Sirius's eyes morphed even though the room remained the same. Instead of night it was daylight, and the previously partially drawn curtains were pulled wide open. Arcturus still remained seated on his desk, scribbling on a piece of parchment, but the stacks of papers on the desk changed sizes. On the other side of the desk, in the same chair in which Mirzam once sat, there was a different woman and she was reading a book.

Much like Mirzam she had long, curly, jet-black hair, that unlike Mirzam's hung freely around her face. She had an aquiline nose and like Mirzam quite distinct cheekbones. But her lips were fuller, complexion darker, and when she looked over her book at Arcturus while she turned the pages, Sirius could see clearly her brown eyes. It was Grandma Mel just as Sirius remembered her.

She smiled at Arcturus and he smiled back at her. A sense of old camaraderie could be felt in the room even though neither of them had said a word. A moment passed like that when something akin to a shock had passed through the room.

"Told you that she would figure it out in less than twenty-four hours, Rus," said Grandma Mel as she closed her book and placed it on the desk. "Pay up," she added as she extended her hand.

"I'm afraid that I left my pouch in the cloaking room, Mel," replied Arcturus dryly.

"Well, you should have known better than betting against a Ravenclaw," Grandma said simply. "Especially on another Ravenclaw."

Somewhere far away outside of the room, but still close enough to be heard, a door banged open and then shut. At that sound Grandma stood up, turning her body slightly towards the door, but with her face still towards Arcturus she said, "Well, here comes Lady Black and she's furious."

"You aren't deserting me, are you?" asked Arcturus cautiously.

"I'm all but my Lord's humble servant, but I'm no Lady anymore. The matters that concern Lord and Lady Black should be discussed by Lord and Lady Black," she replied briskly as she turned her face towards the door just as it burst open.

The Mirzam that appeared in the doorway looked nothing like the pale ghost from the previous visit. She was still quite pale and looked exhausted, but her eyes were sparkling with fury and her cheeks were covered with a blush from exertion.

"Lord Black, Lady Black," she said tightly as she approached them.

"Mrs Black, my Lady," Mel corrected her calmly. "The noble houses have only one Lord and Lady each."

"Of that much I'm aware, Lady Black," said Mirzam crisply. "And that's exactly the reason why I came here today."

"I'm quite certain that St Mungo's keeps a small parliament of owls for the disposal of patients and their loved ones. I'm sure that you could have spared a moment…" started Arcturus.

But Mirzam was not having it and interrupted him quite firmly, "So you could have some time to vacate the premises?"

"I was more thinking along the line of changing my morning robes for dragonhide, but now that you mentioned it, that idea should have occurred to me right after dressing myself in dragonhide," replied Arcturus in a somewhat sheepish tone. "Pray tell how is our grandson faring?"

"Recovering quite splendidly. His healers are all astounded with his miraculous recovery and I'm up to my ears with repeating the nonsense about the power of love. If I have to repeat it once more I will summon a giant bag of sherbet lemons and stuff it whole into the questioners mouth," replied Mirzam angrily.

"Not a fan of the Headmaster then," said Arcturus dryly. "That's good, that's quite excellent."

"The word love holds no meaning if it isn't backed by actions of the one who says it," replied Mirzam tersely. "And speaking of actions," she added quickly. "What the hell is this supposed to be?" she asked as she raised her right hand towards Arcturus.

On her right ring finger was a gleaming, silver-looking wedding band and a silver-looking ring with an unpolished emerald in it.

Arcturus looked at it with unhidden interest, that made Sirius look at the man of his own time. He was smiling fondly at the scene.

"The readapted insignia that was designed for Lady Black's use," replied the younger Arcturus briskly. "Platinum, much more valued by my ancestors once they discovered that it's more durable than silver. Emerald to emphasize the family's Slytherin legacy, unpolished to emphasize that she herself doesn't need to be polished for she has been chosen for her own value."

"My husband is obviously teasing you, My Lady," replied Grandma with a small smile. "Emerald represents youth in the age of man, symbolizes hope and the future, renewal and growth. It's a stone of inspiration and infinite patience, it embodies unity, compassion and unconditional love. It promotes friendship and balance between partners, the basics of domestic bliss, contentment and loyalty."

"All in all a perfect stone for a long and lasting marriage," added Arcturus dryly.

"And that's the part which I'm having a problem with," said Mirzam with a snort.

"Was marriage to our grandson not something you wished for?" asked Grandma with a curious expression on her face.

"Eventually," admitted Mirzam tightly. "Maybe a few years down the line, possibly in the company of our friends and most certainly while he was conscious and aware of being married to me," she added icily.

"He was," replied Arcturus simply. "In the moment it was happening."

Mirzam cursed softly under her breath. Sirius meanwhile looked questioningly at the Arcturus of his own time. He had no memory of such a thing taking place.

"There is a question which you're failing to ask," continued Arcturus. "A quite valid one."

"If I'm not asking it it's because I know that you're dying to tell me anyway," replied Mirzam. "But fine, I'll humour you, why?" she asked.

"Because I needed something that steadied him," replied Arcturus. "Only several bonds can do that, and neither does he have children of his own, nor was I able to see Orion or Walburga lining up to help preserve his life. The ritual through which you were bonded in a loosely understood marriage is an old one, a relic of the ancient times when the word of the Head of the House alone was the law. For some time it served as a marriage ritual, before the knowledge of it was lost in the darkness of history. Back in tribal times before Christianity spread out like fire and rotted out old practices, the sign of commitment of a man to a woman was taking her into his homestead and sharing the same sleeping space just like hers to him was her increasing size. No wizards of old tribes bound their hands with their wives until they proved their fertility by carrying their children."

"Or what they believed to be their children," said Mirzam cynically. "The mother is always certain, Lord Black. But here's the thing, I'm not with his child."

"Not as important as the fact that you did lie with him like man and wife," said Arcturus simply.

"Not in recent years," grumbled Mirzam as she blushed furiously. "And how the hell do you know that?" she asked suspiciously.

"Ability of reading between the lines," said Arcturus dryly. "You said that he bared himself to you and you to him. That's a specific choice of words that implies one more baring you hadn't told me about. Emotionally vulnerable people seek out physical comfort, teenagers even more so. I'm unable to pinpoint a specific time and place…"

"And thank Merlin for that," muttered Mirzam.

"But we had seen you together the summer I'm quite sure it happened. Sirius comes from an old family where physical comfort has been scarce and almost exclusively reserved for women. I offered as much as I could as long as he was willing to accept anyone's touch, but both our son and his wife had done enough damage for him to shy away from physical contact," said Grandma gently.

"And even though you didn't act as such, the level of physical intimacy between you wasn't that of close friends rather than new lovers. A contact that he initiated just as much as he received, with a level of acceptance we hadn't seen since he was a child. I have no idea why it ended…" said Arcturus.

"I do," muttered Mirzam. "And that's another bone that I need to pick with you, but we can reschedule that discussion for later."

"Point is, you slept together at some point in the past," said Grandma swiftly. "On top of that, your magic although quite different, is sympathetic towards each other. You're partners on a physical and magical level."

"Traditionally the act of bonding occurred in childbirth, to help ease the way for the fruit of mutual love," continued Arcturus. "What mattered for me to ensure the success of the ritual was this brief window of time when your magic had been connected. It ensured that while the ritual was cleansing him he remained tethered to life, through you."

"Point," grunted Mirzam. "Still?" she asked as she raised her right hand and wriggled her fingers.

"Well, it took," replied Arcturus simply.

"Bullshit," snorted Mirzam.

"Dragon's dung, my dear, you're a witch, curse like one," quipped Grandma.

"Mudblood," countered Mirzam.

"It's such a plebeian word," sighed Grandma.

"I'm a plebe," replied Mirzam. "My mother was an Irish harlot that spread herself before every man that was willing to pay her, and my father…"

"Is a psychopathic sycophant that led his own sister into a suicide, and if we were living in a matriarchal society you and none of your siblings would have been born because he would be hanged on the nearest tree by the family jewels before either of you had been born," finished Grandma tartly.

"What my dear wife is saying," interjected Arcturus, "is that it doesn't matter where and to whom one has been born. Being born in the stables doesn't make you a bloody hippogriff. Everybody is a master of their own destiny, some simply have it far easier than others."

Mirzam rolled her eyes at that before she asked, "How do I undo it?"

The look that passed between the younger Arcturus and Grandma Mel was one with which Sirius was familiar, and for him it nearly always meant that he wasn't going to like what would come out of either of their mouths.

"By breaking the tether," replied Arcturus slowly.

"And how exactly will I have to do it?" asked Mirzam tartly, in a tone that heavily indicated that she felt as if she was speaking to an idiot.

"Just like witches of old did," said Grandma slowly. "You need to take a man, lie with him like man and wife, ensure that the laying had an effect and give birth to the fruit of your mutual laying."

"And by man, my dear wife means, any man that isn't our grandson," added Arcturus, quite sheepishly.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," groaned Mirzam. "And then what?" she snorted. "Am I supposed to set the kid on fire on something?"

"No," replied Grandma Mel, barely resisting the urge to smile. "You need to ensure that our grandson does the same with another woman."

"Okay, I've had enough," replied Mirzam. "Bye," she added as she turned on her heel and walked out of the room. But just before the door shut behind her she yelled out, "Thanks for being maddeningly unhelpful."

"You know that she will eventually figure out that you have been pulling the tail of her broomstick, don't you?" asked Grandma Mel with a smirk.

"Well, I spent a significant number of years married to a Ravenclaw, and over the years I learned that the best way to defuse a furious Ravenclaw is to redirect her fury into research, at least for a little while," replied Arcturus dryly. "I'm not worried."

"You should be," Grandma pointed out dryly.

"Why wasn't I told?" asked Sirius as the room slowly returned to its current state.

"Her choice, not mine," sighed Arcturus.

"Considering that you didn't exactly leave her a choice to begin with I'm not surprised," observed Sirius and snorted.

Now that he said it, it was glaringly obvious. Mirzam had spent many years relying on the whims of old men to do right by her, or if not right, then at the very least decent. Until she had enough of being used for someone's else purpose. In that regard she and Sirius were similar, with little to no control over their own lives in their childhood and teenage years, they both bloomed into paranoid control freaks in adulthood.

A marriage without her consent, a marriage without his consent. She would have ignored it, forgotten all about it, and maybe attempted to force her rings down Grandpa's throat. She most certainly didn't wear them, at all, or not around Sirius at the very least. Because wearing them meant that she accepted having her hand forced.

"She didn't wear the rings," he said slowly.

"Not at all times," agreed Arcturus. "But Mel was quite adamant about her wearing them when she was here. So after one drop off too much, she enchanted them to stay put until you removed them yourself, and because she was a merciful soul regardless, the other enchantment kept them invisible to all that she didn't want to be made aware of her status."

"Not that it helped her in the long run," sighed Sirius.

"No, it did not," sighed Arcturus heavily. "I'm sorry, Sirius."

"Not your fault," Sirius said with another sigh. "If it's anyone's fault then it's mine and Bella's."

"We knew about your son," said Arcturus quietly. "Long before she had figured it out. The tapestry in the heart doesn't hide such a thing, and your grandmother always had a sixth sense for that. But we also knew how fragile a thing a pregnancy is, especially for someone with such a risky job, Mel advised not to put pressure on her until she realised that she was with child. Maybe if…" he paused.

"I proposed to her," admitted Sirius. "The day she died."

"I know," sighed Arcturus and then he chuckled mirthlessly. "After you had fallen asleep she wrote us. Told us to expect both of you the next day at the manor and to be prepared for one hell of an argument, even if she was supposed to have you both call in sick."

"Why?" asked Sirius curiously. "Granted for the whole marriage without consent thing you deserved a proper dressing down, and don't think that you are getting away with it…"

"She found Regulus," Arcturus interrupted him softly.

Sirius opened and closed his mouth slowly. Then opened it again only to close it after a moment.

"Came in here on 29th July," continued Arcturus. "Cryptic and agitated with a manic glint in her eyes, told us to dress Muggle and follow her. Brought us to the hospital, told us that the boy whom we could barely recognise was our other grandson," he paused. "It had taken a long time to sink in, even longer considering the state he was in and what followed," he shook his head.

Her death.

"She told you," whispered Sirius.

She didn't tell me, he didn't say.

"She was planning to," said Arcturus as if he heard what Sirius didn't say. "Perhaps she came to the conclusion that telling you between shifts wasn't the wisest thing to do as the news without doubt would upset or agitate you. Perhaps she decided that it was safer to drop one bomb at a time," he sighed. "He will be told, that's what her note had said."

"Why wasn't I told after she died?" asked Sirius softly.

"Because she wasn't the only one that died," said Arcturus softly. "Not literally, of course, but for a long time it felt like…" he paused and shook his head. "For many years I couldn't decide what was worse. Losing the one you love and hope to spend the rest of your life with in a tragic but swift manner…"

"Or?" interjected Sirius.

"Or watch how a vicious malady robs her blind of everything she was, and what awaited her in the future, even after a significant number of years that you spent together while expecting to spend even more…" said Arcturus and he shook his head again. "The same afternoon Miranda died, Mel had a stroke, a massive one that kept her in St Mungo's for many days in a critical condition. I'd been told to expect the worst for days on end, I had expected the worst for many more after that. Eventually, after the healers had done everything that they could to stabilise her, I was allowed to take her home," he paused for a moment and then he added with a snort. "To die, I have been told."

"Did she?" asked Sirius softly.

"No," replied Arcturus. "No thanks to that merry bunch of Martians," he added crisply.

"Why didn't you tell me?" asked Sirius.

"I didn't want to worry you," sighed Arcturus. "I didn't want to remind you, and I know you Sirius, don't deny that. You would have remembered, you would sit by her bedside and think about what you had lost. I didn't want to add to that."

"She was…" he hesitated, "still is my grandmother," he added harshly. "Just because you're older than me you don't get to decide what's best for me, not since the door of Grimmauld Place slammed shut behind me. I was twenty years old for Merlin's sake."

"And if your godson turns twenty will you suddenly stop carrying about him and turn off the desire to protect him?" asked Arcturus sceptically.

No. Because between Dumbledore, Voldemort and being Voldemort's Horcrux the chances of Harry living up to twenty at the very moment were miniscule. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"How is she now?" he asked finally.

"Alive," sighed Arcturus. "Thanks to Louise. Mobile, also thanks to Louise and her small army of helpers. But nothing that she or the others have tried could reverse the damage done to her brain. She speaks very little, almost exclusively gibberish, and is very childlike in her behaviour. She needs constant supervision because she has the mind and sense of self-preservation of a toddler with quite impressive dexterity."

"Did it make you stop loving her?" asked Sirius pensively.

"Merlin no," protested Arcturus. "For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health…"

"… to love and to cherish till death us do part," Sirius finished with him.

For a moment they were both quiet.

"What about Reg?" asked Sirius finally.

"What about him?" asked Arcturus with frown.

"Didn't he deserve being looked after?" asked Sirius pointedly.

"He was being looked after, Sirius," replied Arcturus grimly. "My knowledge of Muggle medicine is quite limited but I did ask about his prognosis."

"And?" pressed Sirius.

"I chose to leave him in a place where he had around the clock care provided by people who knew what they were doing. Maybe if the scan…" started Arcturus and shook his head. "I visited him, when I'd been ordered out of the manor, to take a break."

"But you didn't take him in when he woke up," Sirius pointed out bitterly. "You left him there, alone, without magic and without protection."

"You're quite fast to jump to his defence," observed Arcturus. "All things considered…"

"Of course I am, he's my brother for crying out loud," snarled Sirius. "I'm not saying that he's a saint. Neither was I. Each of us chose his own way to survive. Yes, at certain point of time he was on his knees in front of a lunatic. But so did I, the only difference between me and him is that we both believed in our causes. Fat load of good it did to both of us," he added angrily.

Arcturus stayed silent.

"And correct me if I'm wrong, but hadn't you been the one who told me, repeatedly I should add, that law is the law but blood is blood?" he continued. "At the very least he had done a better job of looking after people that mattered to me than you ever did."

"Not a hard choice to make when one's hands aren't tied up," replied Arcturus icily.

"Yeah, by looking after your wife with the help of an army of elves," retorted Sirius. "How many of them do you have in here? Fifty?"

In answer, Arcturus coughed something that sounded like two hundred something.

"Great," snorted Sirius. "You have no excuses," he spat bitterly. "You had primacy over the Potter family and at any given point in time you could have challenged Dumbledore and the entire Ministry for the rights of raising Harry."

"With the blood claim belonging to your other loving grandfather who raised your mother, a raving lunatic; your uncle that married his own fucking cousin. He was also the one responsible for the stellar upbringing of that cousin of yours that murdered your wife and unborn son," snarled Arcturus. "Wanna guess how that godson of yours would have turned out if he was raised by them?" he asked bitterly.

"You were the Head of the Black family," countered Sirius. "Grandpa Pollux was on your leash so don't you dare to hide behind the blood claim because your claim would have trumped his. Especially once you decided to name Harry in loco heir to the head of the Black family," he snarled angrily. "You really have no excuses."

Arcturus's eyes narrowed and he raised his hand in which a wand had appeared. Sirius could feel the hair on the back of his neck raising and he barely resisted the urge of raising his own wand. Older than him or not, his grandfather was no more the head of the Black family or the man of the house, if he dared…

But instead of hexing Sirius, Arcturus pointed at the pensieve from which another silver mist had risen.

This time the room around them changed completely to one of the hallways leading to the courtrooms. It was a familiar pathway, through which Sirius had walked many times, but one that had always made him feel a little ill at ease.

If the location itself didn't make him a bit apprehensive about the memory, then most certainly the thunderous look on Arcturus's face did. It wasn't a look that Sirius saw often, especially in relation to something that he specifically had done, but every time he did, at the barest minimum sparks were flying.

For a very brief moment he wondered who managed to piss off Arcturus so much for the careful, controlled façade to slip from his face to reveal the face of a rabid dog. Perhaps it was a wrong comparison and one that should be applied to himself rather than his grandfather, but he and Arcturus shared similar features as well as mannerism, especially in anger. Therefore it was easy to make such a comparison.

The corridor around them was deserted, devoid of any people aside from younger Arcturus and themselves. But Arcturus actually hadn't had gotten very far, no further than the door to courtroom number four, when he was pushed into the dark niche by the door by something or someone invisible.

As Sirius expected him to do, Arcturus wasted no time in revealing the opponent that to Sirius utter shock and dismay had been Mad-Eye Moody. Because it was also Moody he wasn't pussyfooting with Arcturus either and within seconds they had their wands pointed at each other's throats as they glared at each other.

"Still at it?" asked Moody icily.

"Not your bloody business," replied Arcturus icily.

"I beg to differ," replied Moody. "Your continued harassment is making it my business. I don't know what sort of mistaken delusion you're harbouring but if I have something to say about it you and none from your family will never as much as look at the boy."

"And I don't know what exactly you've been drinking from that flask of yours, Mad-Eye but you aren't exactly…" started Arcturus angrily.

"… aware on how thin ice you're stepping," finished Moody with an ugly smile. "Azkaban is quite a dangerous place."

"Indeed it is," agreed Arcturus icily. "Are you threatening to throw me in there too?" he growled.

"I'm not threatening," said Moody simply. "If I had something on you that would have allowed me to throw and keep you there you would already be sharing a neighbourhood cell with your good for nothing grandson," he growled. "Speaking of whom," he added and paused for a moment. "It would be a terrible shame indeed if something bad had happened to him."

"Like what?" asked Arcturus through gritted teeth.

"Oh, you know the usual," replied Moody simply. "Assholes like him are occasionally due for a shower once in a while, and you know Azkaban. An island in the middle of sea, damp and quite slippery. It would be a shame if a prisoner under the name of Sirius Black slipped down the stairs and broke his neck."

Arcturus swallowed tickly before he said quietly, "A shame indeed."

"Glad we agree," replied Moody. "I hope that you will bear that in mind before you decide to harass the Minister or the Headmaster again," he added before he turned on his heel and started walking away.

The memory finished seconds after that with Arcturus glaring at Moody's retreating back, and the room around them returned to its normal state. Just in time too, because Sirius's knees for a second time today decided to give up. Luckily, this time he didn't collapse on the floor and merely sagged on the back of the couch.

Moody. His mentor, the one whose judgement he had trusted implicitly. The one that he hoped would look at the evidence and…

"Don't turn people into heroes, Sirius," Mirzam once said. "That way you won't be disappointed by their fall."

And how they had all fallen. Even Mirzam. James too, Dumbledore…

"So you believed him?" whispered Sirius as he stared at the floor.

"He made a very compelling argument," replied Arcturus grimly. "Zugzwang."

"More like a stalemate," replied Sirius grimly as he raised his head. "If you went after Harry, most likely you would have signed my death sentence, and if you went after me, Harry would have been…"

"… even more guarded than he already was," finished Arcturus. "Possibly even brought up by Dumbledore himself, spoon fed with his ideology and completely brainwashed."

"Not that he avoided being brainwashed in the end," said Sirius with a snort. "What were you planning to do?" he asked pensively. "I know you, you're a Slytherin through and through, you always have a plan."

"My plan was to ensure your survival while at the same time convincing Dumbledore that he had nothing to worry about from me," replied Arcturus grimly.

"Hence locking yourself in here for ten years, hoping that Grandpa Pollux or Uncle Cygnus would attempt to lay a claim," finished Sirius. "With you being dead, your will would have been read out, and due to its restricted form, at the age of seventeen Harry would have been handed the inheritance he had no idea of, and knowing you, if he was the one who put on the ring…"

"He would have ended up in here and wouldn't leave this place until at the very least I had managed to plant seeds of doubt about Dumbledore's schemes," finished Arcturus.

"Assuming that you would be able to uproot sixteen years of brainwashing," said Sirius with a grimace.

"You don't believe my talent in persuasion?" asked Arcturus sceptically.

"I used to," said Sirius with a sigh.

"But you no longer do?" asked Arcturus with a sigh of his own.

"After the shit you actually pulled off?" asked Sirius with a snort. "Oh, I believe you, Grandpa, but I do not trust you. You've done nothing to earn it, literally nothing. If you want me to trust you, you have to prove that you're worthy of it."

"What do you require of me?" asked Arcturus, quite eagerly.

"I'm no longer in Azkaban and Harry is no longer a pawn on Dumbledore's board. And because I have to make sure that he won't make it back there again, I have neither the time nor additional strength left to play politics," replied Sirius slowly. "Clear my name and maybe, just maybe I will consider trusting you again."

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next:** Arcturus sorts out the problems with Hermione's parents.


	6. Chapter 06 - The Grangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arcturus sorts out the problems with Hermione's parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Word count:** About 6000.
> 
> **Author's note:** Finally we're leaving 8th August behind after this chapter. Time wise this one takes place before the events of chapter 5 but because it the events of both didn't affect each other I decided to keep the order in which they were written. Not to mention I managed to misplace the complete version of this chapter and my beta got it too late to finish it before posting chapter 5.
> 
> Also I love Mrs Granger.
> 
> **Posted on Tuesdays.**
> 
> **Beta read by Regnbuen (Nitraz).**
> 
> _I hope that You will find this story enjoyable. I would be the most grateful for constructive criticism._

_The hardest part of raising a child is teaching them to ride bicycles. A shaky child on a bicycle for the first time needs both support and freedom. The realization that this is what the child will always need can hit hard._

_~Sloan Wilson_

**Secrets & Keepers – Entropy**

**Chapter six: The Grangers**

_Hermione Granger, 8_ _th_ _August 1993, Paris,_

She had no idea how Arcturus had managed to arrange the meeting within roughly two hours after breakfast, or how he ensured that no Muggle police were in near vicinity of the place.

He had taken her to a small café that appeared to be located on an island in the middle of the river. He side-along apparated her to a small park and waited for her to get her breathing and stomach under control before he presented her with an invisibility cloak.

"Do I really need it?" she asked sceptically.

"Definitely for the opening," replied Arcturus. "You might remove it later on, but I'm planning to start the conversation as if you weren't there."

So she accepted the offering, put it on, and once under it she grabbed on the edge of Arcturus's left arm. The walk to the café was brief and uneventful.

Curiously, considering the time of the day, the café wasn't heavily crowded and the majority of the people instead of staying indoors occupied the outdoor tables, talking between themselves or reading newspapers between bites of pastries and sips of their coffee.

Mum and Dad, unlike the other people, were seated in a booth in the corner of the cafe. In front of Dad was a large plate filled with pastries and a mug of tea, a breakfast for a hangover she quickly realised. Mum meanwhile only had a cup of what appeared to be cappuccino, and a half-eaten croissant on her plate.

As Arcturus led her towards the table he shook of her arm. He slid into the booth without preamble or acknowledging their presence until he was sitting down. Hermione slid into the seat next to him.

"Mrs Granger, Mr Granger," he said in a calm, conversational tone. "I'm glad that you agreed to the meeting."

"Where is our daughter?" asked Dad harshly.

"At the moment this shouldn't matter as much as that she arrived there safe and unharmed, if majorly upset," replied Arcturus stoically.

"Where is our daughter?" Dad repeated in the same harsh tone.

Arcturus narrowed his eyes at him before he looked around and flagged a waitress. She approached the table swiftly with a big smile.

"One cappuccino please," said Arcturus to her in French as he slid a large note towards her. "And keep the change, my dear."

The waitress smiled at him and promised to come back in a moment.

"Where is our daughter?" Dad repeated once more.

"I already answered that," said Arcturus in a tone that bordered on bored. "And I majorly dislike repeating myself, so until you ask the right question…"

"How is she?" asked Mum in concern.

"Troubled, which considering everything that happened during the summer is understandable if not to be expected," replied Arcturus.

"She's a teenager, of course she sulks, the ungreat…" started Dad with a huff.

"If you don't want me to chuck you into the Seine within the next thirty seconds, you will shut your goddamn mouth and listen," Arcturus interrupted him harshly.

"Are you threatening me?" bristled Dad.

"I just promised to throw you into a river if you don't shut up. What do you think you wretched toper?" asked Arcturus pointedly.

Dad opened his mouth, clearly to argue, but Mum interrupted him and growled, "Shut your mouth, Mark and keep it shut."

Meanwhile the waitress returned with Arcturus's cappuccino and left with a big smile once she placed it on the table.

"Can we see her?" asked Mum hopefully.

"Eventually," answered Arcturus before he took a small sip of his cappuccino. "Delightful," he commented. "As is your daughter," he added as he placed the cup on the table. "She's a delightful young lady, insanely smart and very perceptive."

Dad huffed.

"And far more understanding than some people at this table, I should add," commented Arcturus as his gaze had lingered on Dad.

"She had no right…" started Dad angrily.

"To find your condescending behaviour towards certain kinds of people disturbing?" Arcturus interrupted him. "I beg to differ, especially considering what happened earlier this summer," he added as he splayed his hand on the table.

As soon as whatever magic he had performed reached them, Mum gasped and Dad jerked back with such force that he fell against the back of the booth.

"Mark Granger," hissed Mum angrily.

"You can't use this stuff on us, it's illegal," hissed Dad angrily.

"As is your behaviour towards your daughter," replied Arcturus crisply. "Especially considering how our world views the dubious legality of your ownership of her," he added sourly.

"She's not a possession," objected Mum.

"You think so, but I'm not sure if your husbands shares your views," replied Arcturus simply. "An only child, and one that his parents had late in their lives. They catered to his every whim as long as they could. However nature depends on nurture and you saw enough of your grandparents to notice how they behaved, towards each other and their children and grandchildren. And you, being as spoiled rotten as you had been decided to emulate your dear old grandpa. Thankfully quite early you had proved to be a giant disappointment and you lost whatever favour you had left with him. You straightened your act however, be it out of obligation towards your parents or out of genuine desire to change. But you didn't change your views, did you?"

"Not your business," Dad spat angrily. "And how do you know that?"

"Oh, I beg to differ," replied Arcturus with a shrug. "It was my business all along, Mr Granger. From the very moment your daughter came into this world. She was, is, and will remain, a member of my family circle."

"If she's your family then why didn't you take her yourself you condescending asshole?" snarled Dad.

"Because surrendering her hadn't been my idea, and I learned about it too late to interfere with her mother. Her aunt however felt disturbed by her sister's decision, enough to establish a failsafe of sorts with me or herself acting as your daughter's legal guardians, should you prove to be inadequate guardians," replied Arcturus calmly.

"And we have," whispered Mum.

"I have no reservations towards your conduct, Mrs Granger," said Arcturus simply. "You raised a polite, intelligent and precious young lady and you should be proud. You, however," he added as he looked at Dad, "you repulse me, you worm, especially your latest behaviour and especially towards women. Had it been sorely left up to me that very evening I would have taken your daughter with me and left you with nothing. But your daughter, for some reason believes that even this breach of trust which both of you have committed can be mended."

"She is our daughter, she has no say…" started Dad.

"Shut up," hissed Arcturus over Mum's "Shut up, Mark."

Then Mum stood up and glaring at Dad she said, "Go for a walk, Mark. Now!"

Dad stared at Mum, as did Hermione. Normally Mum was an epitome of politeness and gentleness, but now she looked angrier than Hermione had ever seen her.

"Didn't you hear what I said?" asked Mum lividly. "Get out and stay gone until I come and find you, you jerk."

Dad hesitated for a moment but very slowly he slid out of the booth and stood up. He walked out of the café constantly turning his head over his shoulder while Mum's glare escorted him to the door.

"Pardon me," said Mum quietly as she sat down. "He doesn't always…" she paused.

"Think about consequences of his words or his actions?" supplied Arcturus.

"Act like a condescending bastard, I planned to say," said Mum with a sigh. "I don't wish to trouble you…"

"By all means do," said Arcturus eagerly. "It's affecting him and he's definitely affecting your daughter."

Mum sighed heavily and took a sip of her cappuccino before she replied, "For a couple of years now we've been trying to extend our practice, not that our current one is small. We have a couple of employees, those that work full time and a couple that take an occasional moonlighting shift. What we don't have is enough space for both our patients and employees. About a year back we received an offer from an owner of a townhouse that shares the wall with our practice. She has been making tentative plans to retire to Spain and she's been searching for a property there but because she doesn't have enough money…"

"She needs to sell her London house first to afford the purchase," finished Arcturus. "What's the problem then?"

"Our age," sighed Mum heavily before she reached into her bag and rummaged through it until she pulled a pack of cigarettes. "We're fifty-five, too old for a long term credit with loan instalment that would have allowed us the same living standard. Not unless we sell the house which we don't want to do. It's the only house that Hermione remembers and adapting it into our liking has taken us a lot of time and a lot of money. But it's also an investment for Hermione's future…" she paused and pulled one of the cigarettes out of the pack. Arcturus extended his hand with a lit match. "Thank you," she sighed.

"Then there are the Hogwarts fees," said Arcturus.

"Then there are the Hogwarts fees," agreed Mum. "It doesn't cost us as much as Mayfield would have, but at the very least at Mayfield for that fee she would be provided with everything, from uniforms to books," she paused for a moment to take a puff. "Then there's the problem with the solution that Mark had found to our financial problem. A friend of his from school, and a friend is a term that I'm using quite loosely in connection with that ponce, has a nephew that recently graduated from a dental program. At the moment he's recuperating from the years of hard studying somewhere in the tropics, and while he doesn't have experience, no more than that required of a recent graduate, his family does have money, and Mark decided that he would make a great partner."

"You disagree," stated Arcturus as if it was obvious.

"I've met him, Mr… I'm sorry, I hadn't asked for your name," said Mum apologetically.

"Russ Black," answered Arcturus. "Call me Russ," he added with a quick smile.

"Call me Helen then. Any connection to that escaped fugitive?" asked Mum pensively.

"Not one that I'm aware of," lied Arcturus smoothly. "You were saying?" he asked quickly.

"I've met that doctor," said Mum stiffly, putting heavy accent on the word doctor. "Just like I've met his uncle."

"Private school?" asked Arcturus curiously.

"Eton, just like Mark, barely avoided being expelled from it. A lawyer by trade, not a very good one but a partner in a good firm. Third son of some viscount or something, I was never interested in the class system and I constantly got it wrong," replied Mum sourly. "Has a daughter about Hermione's age, in Mayfield of all places. Some of his other friends have their children in other boarding schools."

"Ah," hummed Arcturus. "And the usual cover isn't good enough or working too well?" he asked.

Mum grimaced before she replied, "Varies on a day to day basis. Then there's the magical aspect of it. Initially he agreed that being with other kids like her would do her good, but through her first year and afterwards he had lots of questions about the proper education or lack of thereof. He started making designs for arranging private tutors, but the idea occurred to him last year, too late to arrange them from the beginning of the summer. Then my mother got sick and luckily he decided to be considerate enough to not drop it on Hermione back then. Then the money issue rolled around and we promised Hermione that we would make up for the lack of a proper summer vacation last year."

"Hence no tutors this summer," nodded Arcturus. "But that's him," he added. "What about you?"

Mum took a long drag of the cigarette before she said slowly, "I just want her to be happy. Sure, in an ideal world I would have wanted to have her back home at the end of the school day or at the very least for weekends." She paused for a moment and took another drag of the cigarette before she continued, "Last year when she wrote us that she wasn't returning home for Christmas while Mark was meeting with that poncy git I took the opportunity to go shopping at the Alley. At first I wanted to find a gift for her, we do have a mailing catalogue at home and I could have used it but I wanted to examine stuff myself."

"Nothing wrong with that," said Arcturus simply.

"I got inside rather quickly and tried my best to not act completely bewildered. I think that I did a relatively good job as I was taken for a visitor from abroad rather than a Muggle," she continued and paused for long enough to smile softly. "While I was looking for a gift for Hermione I stepped into the bookshop. She is easily pleased with those," she added fondly. "But while I was pursuing the books, I encountered a booklet which I think should be included along with that Ministerial orientation one. It was a research project made a while back, I think in sixties, that described statistics concerning Muggleborns. You know, employment rate, wages…"

"Sobering wasn't it?" asked Arcturus with a grimace.

"Only ten percents of Muggleborns maintain regular ties with the Muggle world after graduation from secondary school. Only two percent still do that after the death of their relatives. Five percents pursue Muggle education and only one percent of them reached sixth form," replied Mum grimly. "I haven't shown it to Mark, nor am I planning to, Lord only knows how fast he would have pulled her out of Hogwarts if he saw it," she paused to shake her head. "He convinced himself that Hermione would agree to the idea of tutors, if only to sit her A level exams with other students from her year. And he can be convincing, at the very least he has been convincing until now, for Hermione to agree to that idea."

"What about you?" asked Arcturus pensively.

"I'm not sure she should be doing that, at the very least not on Mark's timetable. She's most certainly smart enough to do it within a year or two from graduating from Hogwarts. But she's who she is and she will do whatever she wants. I will support her even if she would want to become a hermit and live on berries and herbs. Hell, I will even regularly drive up to her reclusion site to supply her with those if that would be what makes her happy."

Hermione smiled softly.

"But that's not a part of the big plan, is it?" asked Arcturus pointedly.

"No," sighed Mum heavily before she stuffed the butt of the cigarette into Dad's cappuccino. "She will finish that school," she said with a sneer, "if she's good at maintaining satisfying grades from her normal exams she will graduate out of it completely. If not, she will only sit her ordinary exams and we will pull her out of that school so she can finish her schooling like it was planned."

"Dear Merlin," groaned Arcturus. "And let me guess, once she finishes sixth form she will take over your practice, later on marry a son of one of his friends and have a couple of kids whose names he already decided."

"He has his heart set on an Aurelius, Octavius and Eurydice," replied Mum sourly.

"What a fucking jerk," snorted Arcturus.

"He wasn't always like that," said Mum with a grimace. "It's his friends, Russ, they keep stepping on his ambitions and he doesn't see that his ambitions aren't hers."

"But you do," said Arcturus. "Why don't you set him straight, Helen?"

"Because…" Mum started. "It's complicated. He can be a jerk but I still love him. Even after…" she grimaced. "But that doesn't mean that…"

"… you aren't afraid of what he would do if you were to put your foot down a little harder," finished Arcturus with a nod.

Mum grimaced.

"Does he abuse you?" asked Arcturus softly.

"Not at all," protested Mum. "What gave you that idea?"

"Not all abuse is physical, Helen," said Arcturus calmly. "Psychological abuse is just as damaging if not worse. Financial abuse is one of its forms."

Mum gnawed on her bottom lip.

"The house was purchased in his name," she said eventually. "As was the car. My parents had money trouble way back when we were looking for the house. It wasn't terribly bad but they ended up with a debt and I was one of the residents on that loan. The practice belongs to both of us but with his specialisation he generates bigger revenue."

"Do you have a joint account?" asked Arcturus.

Mum nodded before she added, "To which we both have the same access, Hermione's saving account however has been put in his name and we both contribute the same amount of money to it. It's not much, not enough for a house, but enough for a new car or a couple of years of rent if she would want to move away after graduation."

"You're a specialist in your own field and even if you were to leave him and start your life anew you wouldn't have problems with establishing a modest household elsewhere," said Arcturus slowly. "No, you aren't afraid of being left with nothing. It's something else. Something…" he paused and frowned before he asked, "May I take your hand?"

"Okay," muttered Mum as she extended her right hand towards him.

Arcturus enveloped Mum's smaller hand in both of his, and for a long time he held on to it. From Mum's slightly bewildered expression, Hermione glanced towards Arcturus, but he didn't have any expression that would have indicated what he was doing or thinking.

"That explains a lot," he said after he finally released Mum's hand from his hold. "Who was it?" he asked curiously.

"My grandfather," said Mum softly. "We all believed that he was into some sort of voodoo stuff, but from what I heard about him he was the gentlest soul one could imagine. At the same time, he was an awfully perceptive individual that knew when he was being lied to, as if he could read other people's thoughts. He favoured natural medicine over pharmaceuticals until his death. None of us had seen him doing any magic and I can't say if he ever received any proper schooling but…"

"He wasn't born in England, was he?" asked Arcturus pensively.

"We didn't even know that much," replied Mum. "He spoke of the Caribbean islands and about New Orleans on occasion, but he and his father had sailed for many years."

"You're fifty-five which would make your mother about seventy-five and him about a hundred if not hundred and twenty if he lived," muttered Arcturus and scratched his chin. "Unfortunately I know why he could have fled from the area. It's a black spot on the American educational system, one last hurrah of the wizards that partook in the American Civil War," he added. "The wizarding Civil Rights Act majorly repeated that what had been stated in the muggle one, with a couple of minor additions. One of them concerned funding small magical state schools, one for each state, and because the wizards fighting for the confederation were some of the biggest racists amongst the bunch, they finally settled on funding two schools in each state."

"Bastards," snorted Mum.

"Oh, it gets worse," continued Arcturus. "In 1872 a bunch of even bigger fucks had decided that they didn't want their former slaves, in their sick minds still their slaves, to receive a formal magical education. So they decided to amend the problem by something that gained the name of Black Fire of the South. Within about three days, a group of them had attacked every single black school in the Southern states, at the worst possible time in the day, during lunch hours, where not only children but also their parents came to school to eat together. And the fire that was used to burn them down wasn't the regular one, it was a dark spell that couldn't be controlled."

"Were they ever caught?" whispered Mum.

"Eventually, but not before every wizard of colour that had some sense had fled from there. Most fled north, some fled west, some fled the fuck away from that country altogether. I presume that your grandfather was one of the refuges," said Arcturus pensively.

"I didn't know that," said Mum softly. "Hell, I don't even know what I am?"

"The name you're asking for is a squib. The proper term describes one as a non-magical person born to at least one magical parent. But that's a very inaccurate description as I've found over the years. Their individual levels of magic vary, but are so low that most often they aren't able to do much besides seeing or sensing magic that Muggles cannot see. Some of them are capable of possessing some magical talents, very limited, but as one of the most detailed work on the subjects describes it, it's not something that they can do consciously," explained Arcturus. "One of the most fascinating examples that I found was a Metamorphmagus, a witch that could transform her appearance in any way she wanted but aside of that couldn't do no magic whatsoever."

"And me?" asked Mum curiously. "Do I have some limited magical talent?"

"Oh yes," said Arcturus briskly. "One of the most fascinating ones that I have ever encountered."

"Aside from the woman of many faces," said Mum with a small smile.

"You're an empath," answered Arcturus. "It explains your chosen specialty and why your daughter is such a thoughtful young woman. Looking for good in people is one of your qualities as much as a fault. It's also the reason why you have gotten yourself into this mess in the first place."

"She was a former patient of mine," said Mum slowly. "Anne Shirley was her name. Came in for some pretty mundane stuff. Perfect teeth, straight and even, not exactly pearly white, but I've seen worse, and hers were within the norm. I sorted her out, we had a small chat and that was the last I saw of her before summer," she paused. "At first I didn't recognise her as she completely changed her hair, but there was something about her that made me keep finding her in the crowd. For some reason she stood out like a sore thumb to me, even if Mark couldn't notice her."

"She stalked you," said Arcturus.

"From a distance at first," continued Mum. "Further away first but gradually she grew bolder. She loitered around my workplace, not at all times, but hardly a day went by when she wasn't there and for long enough for me to notice her."

"Were you worried?" asked Arcturus pensively.

Mum frowned and remained silent for a long moment before she finally said, "I think that I wanted to be worried, but there was something about her that didn't allow me to focus on that thought for too long. It felt more like she was dealing with some inner turmoil and wanted to talk with someone, but was trying to gather her wits about it," she paused for a moment. "At the time we were living in a small townhouse in Reading and planning to adopt…" she paused again and grimaced. "It didn't work out. But one day in the middle of August, I returned home and had this weird feeling that someone had been to the house even if nothing was moved. I checked everything three times, there were no forced locks, nothing went missing or were out of place, but I could feel that someone had been inside it and that it wasn't Mark or any of our parents or friends."

"Weird," muttered Arcturus. "But on a second thought…" he added and hesitated. "Yeah, that sounds like her."

"What?" asked Mum curiously.

"There are a couple of spells that test one's awareness of magic. They're so mundane that most people don't bother to use them unless they're fearing that their child is a squib. Yeah, that definitely sounds like her."

"Anne Shirley?" asked Mum.

"Not the name I knew her under," replied Arcturus. "She was a woman of many identities, hazard of the job and her particular upbringing."

"What name did you know her under?" asked Mum curiously.

"Miranda Black," replied Arcturus simply.

"A relative of yours?" asked Mum.

"Of some distance," answered Arcturus with a shrug. "Insanely smart, resourceful and highly paranoid."

"From what I heard about that man, not that I managed to get much out of her sister on the subject, she had every reason to be," replied Mum.

"Well, that's debateable," replied Arcturus with a grimace. "She was a troubled young girl in a very tight spot and what she believed was a noble motive."

"Not something that they both agreed on," said Mum with a grimace. "That's why I asked her if she would like to name Hermione. It felt to me as if she needed some semblance of the control over the situation or she would flee out of that place like a bat out of hell, taking Hermione with her."

"She was definitely ready to do that, I assure you," replied Arcturus grimly.

"Which was why I asked Mum to maintain contact with her," sighed Mum. "The mother didn't want it, she didn't want to as much as look at Hermione, much less hold her. It felt as if she feared that if she'd done so then she would change her mind about giving her up. I know that Mum maintained a regular correspondence that with passing time had stopped. What became of her?" she asked gently.

"What became of many young talented wizards and witches of that generation," replied Arcturus with a heavy sigh. "Shadow and ash. You read Hermione's history books?"

Mum nodded slowly.

"She was an Auror, our equivalent to a policeman. She got killed in the line of duty on 30th July 1980," said Arcturus.

"But…" started Mum softly. "She sent a gift for Hermione's first birthday and that was in September."

"That was me," admitted Arcturus with a sigh. "She left it in my possession and I was quite decent at emulating her handwriting. Not well enough to a trained magical eye, but enough to convince your mother that I was her."

"And then?" asked Mum.

"Then I did what she had asked me to do," replied Arcturus. "Observe but don't interfere unless Hermione will come to you on her own or unless you will find out that I was wrong about them," he added as if he was quoting Miranda.

"Was she?" whispered Mum.

"Not until 7th July this year," replied Arcturus sourly.

"Who are you?" asked Mum. "To Hermione, I mean."

"Miranda was both her aunt and a godmother, a magical guardian and in her last will she left very stern instructions to act as in loco godfather towards your daughter, although considering my age even back then it was praised as in loco godgrandfather," replied Arcturus.

"Why didn't you?" asked Mum slowly. "Why didn't you appear sooner?"

"Because I honour my promises," replied Arcturus simply. "I swore to Miranda that I wouldn't interfere and I didn't, not until her conditions were met. Your daughter had a loving home and a pair of doting grandparents. She lacked nothing that you were capable of giving her. Well, maybe aside from one thing," he paused. "Why didn't you tell her the truth?"

"Have you met her?" asked Mum swiftly. "Well, obviously, you have otherwise we wouldn't be talking about it. But can you imagine how hyper focused she would become on finding out the truth? And we had nothing to give her in that regard. I didn't know Anne Shirley's name until you said it, and her sister…" she grimaced. "I can barely remember the name she gave to us and signed the paperwork with, and I stared at it for hours."

"Not an excuse," Arcturus pointed out.

"Maybe," admitted Mum with a grimace. "Don't think we didn't have any openings, Russ. We did and a couple of them. But if there was one thing which Mark always deferred to me, it was the reveal of it. And I…" she paused, "every single one of them I had in the back of my mind the look on her face, the fear in her eyes or the set of her jaw. That wasn't something that had ever gone away. She was afraid, very afraid."

"And you didn't want your daughter to experience the same kind of fear," said Arcturus slowly.

Mum nodded slowly.

"She's afraid, Helen," added Arcturus softly. "Bloody terrified but not of the truth but of losing herself and that fear is justified."

"I know," sighed Mum. "If he ever summon those people..."

"It will be too late," replied Arcturus. "It might be even too late now," he added grimly. "He's angry and hungover and that isn't exactly a good mixture. But there's one thing which you can do to keep him reined."

"What do you propose?" asked Mum .

"The truth for a change," offered Arcturus. "The whole thing is illegal, we both know that. What you probably aren't aware of, are the ramifications of it in our world. Muggle adoption of magical children is borderline illegal, and if the truth ever came out and you were unable to prove that you didn't hold any ill will…" he paused.

"We meant no ill will," Mum pointed out.

"Perhaps not, but in the eyes of our legal system that won't matter. The paperwork is a sham and every prosecutor with half of a brain would be able to spin the whole thing into a case of kidnapping, if not human trafficking. And Merlin preserve you if that happens. At best, you will lose your daughter and you won't have even memories of her left. At worst, what awaits you is between twenty-five years to a life sentence in Azkaban, our prison, and I would be surprised if you last there more than five years at the most, you especially, Helen," explained Arcturus.

"What do you propose?" whispered Mum.

"Allow me to keep your daughter for the rest of the summer. On 31st August I will ensure that she is safely delivered to the Leaky Cauldron where you will be able to talk with her in private and decide on what happens next, all of you, Hermione included," replied Arcturus.

"Does she know what you're proposing?" asked Mum sceptically.

In response Arcturus glanced over his shoulder before he swiftly pulled the cloak from Hermione's head.

"Hermione!" gasped out Mum.

"Hi Mum," whispered Hermione.

"Oh, sweetheart," whispered Mum. "I'm so sorry."

"So am I," admitted Hermione. "But I can't let Dad…" she couldn't even bring herself to finish.

"You won't have to," said Mum swiftly in a hard voice. "I will sort out that idiot myself and if I won't be able to…" she looked at Arcturus.

"Then my house will always be open to both you and your daughter, and my pointy stick at your disposal," said Arcturus simply. "Just call out Russ and within moments I will be at your side. Now if either of you don't mind I need to use the restroom," he added as he tapped Hermione's arm.

Hermione quickly stood up, allowing him to leave the booth. But once he left she wasn't sure where she should sit down. Next to Mum or in front of her.

"I'm so sorry that you had to find out this way," whispered out Mum.

"You don't even know which way," pointed out Hermione sceptically as she finally sat down in front of Mum.

"I might not be sure but I know only one gossipmonger that was aware of it," replied Mum with a grimace. "Lord only knows why Mark had settled on that house."

"I'm surprised that I hadn't found out sooner," said Hermione with a soft snort. "Not from you, not that that wouldn't have been welcomed," she added sourly.

"I know," sighed Mum. "I'm sorry."

"I forgive you," whispered Hermione. "It's not as if you were't looking out for me."

"Well, the road to hell is paved with good intentions," muttered Mum.

"You and the other one too," replied Hermione with a grimace.

"Did you find her?" asked Mum curiously.

"Not yet," replied Hermione. "But I found daddy dearest and wasn't that a surprise of the century."

"It's someone you know," said Mum. "That professor of yours whose books you read to Grandpa when he got sick?"

Oh Merlin, groaned inwardly Hermione.

"No," she replied with a grimace. "Although that actually would have been worse. Eww, thanks for that image, Mum."

"Sorry," said Mum sheepishly. "Professor Dumbledore then?"

"Yuck," Hermione grimaced. "He's over a hundred, a hundred and fifteen I think and Mum was about nineteen when she had me," she explained. "Yuck, yuck, yuck."

"Well out of people that I know that you know personally aside of the Weasleys…"

"It's Snape," Hermione grunted out.

"Oh Lord," groaned Mum.

"Yeah," snorted Hermione. "And you know what's better?" she asked. "Is that at school he was mooning over Harry's mother."

"You appear to know far more than you knew about him at the beginning of the summer," Mum pointed out. "Did you talk with him?"

"No," replied Hermione.

"If not then how did you find out that it was him?" asked Mum curiously.

And somehow it was that easy. So she talked. About Mrs Lambert. About Josephine. About Eleanor Fawley-White and the Beady Bunch. She carefully omitted parts about Sirius, deciding to let Arcturus handle that bomb in due time. She talked about Larry. About Miranda. About the bequests that were left to her, omitting the part about the trustee vault, another thing which Arcturus would be better at explaining. She spoke of the house on 39 Grimmauld Place and how they could both move in there if Dad didn't come around.

She spoke until she was parched and Mum listened like she always did, carefully, curiously, smiling at Hermione's antics in Diagon Alley when she dragged her daddy dearest on a shopping trip. She spoke of de Pagaille and her misadventure in the park in Paris. How she made it to Arcturus's house safely.

"I couldn't imagine you being in safer hands," said Mum finally. "I hate losing you so soon and at this moment of all times."

"I will be fine, Mum," said Hermione earnestly. "I'm always fine. I got it from you and Grandma."

"That you did," agreed Mum. "I'm not sure how fast I will be able to sort out your father. Certainly not for a couple of days, but when I do I will drop by the alley to use the post office. Can you be reached there by mail?"

"By you and her friends she will be," said Arcturus as he appeared by the table. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Helen."

"You too, Russ," replied Mum as she stood up. "You put a couple of important things in perspective. It's time to put a swine where it belongs," she added briskly with a glint in her eyes. "Hermione," she said as she reached out to her.

It was easy to fall into Mum's embrace as if the last couple of weeks hadn't happened. Regardless of not being her biological mother, she was the only mother she knew, and one that she loved.

"I love you, Hermione," Mum whispered into her hair.

"I love you too," Hermione whispered back.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next:** If what he already learned wasn't bad enough Harry learns that it was only the tip of the iceberg.


	7. Chapter 07 - Lessons Learned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If what he already learned wasn't bad enough Harry learns that it was only the tip of the iceberg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Word count:** About 7300.
> 
> **Author's note:** I didn't get to deep into explaining the Potter family estate in chapter 4 for this very reason. As it was something that should be discussed with Harry. We also left 8th August behind us and from there things will be progressing faster. In the beginning on day to day basis as certain discussions and decisions need lead to other discussions and decisions. But I will be skipping time when I can. Just like I will have two or more chapters devoted to one day. I learned my lesson with chapter 5, if a chapter is getting too long and I know that it will get even longer I will manage the split in places that make sense. And yeah, I tend to get side-tracked at times but that's because I'm playing what might piss people off bingo with Dumbledore as the one printing bingo sheets.
> 
> And yeah, you probably saw part of this conversation already but like I promised Babbling will do anything to remove students from Trelawney's class.
> 
> **Next chapter will be posted on Tuesday 9th February 2021.**
> 
> **Beta read by Regnbuen (Nitraz).**

_A teacher affects eternity; he can never tell where his influence stops._

_~Henry Brooks Adams_

**Secrets & Keepers – Entropy**

**Chapter seven: Lessons Learned**

_Harry Potter, 9_ _th_ _August 1993, 12 Grimmauld Place, London_

He woke up slowly, feeling a bit groggy and almost uncomfortably, pliantly relaxed. The bedsheets around him were warm and smelt faintly of lavender and a certain musky scent which origins he couldn't pinpoint, or even bring himself to bother about, until a couple of minutes later, in an attempt to roll over to burrow even further into the mattress, he managed to kick something. Something soft and come to think about it, pretty big. He turned his head in that direction and cracked one eye open and stared in a pair of alert grey eyes that belonged to a giant black dog.

"Morning," he mumbled before he yawned, and after a moment he added pensively. "Is it morning?"

The dog had the decency to look a bit sheepish, which in turn made Harry frown at him as he propped himself on his elbow.

"You slipped something into my tea, didn't you?" he asked before he yawned.

The dog whimpered pitifully.

"You know this conversation would be going far smoother if you used your actual mouth," he pointed out as he sat up.

In turn the dog jumped from the bed turning mid-air into his godfather. Sirius hardly looked any better than he did yesterday.

"Did you actually sleep?" asked Harry curiously.

"A couple of hours here and there," replied Sirius with a grimace. "If it makes you feel better Reg decided to retire me to bed by slipping a sleeping draught into my tea too."

"Where is he?" asked Harry.

"He was downstairs last time I saw him," replied Sirius. "If you're feeling up to it, breakfast should be served in about twenty minutes."

"Why wouldn't I be feeling up to it?" asked Harry simply, even as the memory of the last day came to him.

Weirdly, as present as it felt, the knowledge that he was a vessel for a piece of Voldemort's soul didn't feel as ominous and hopeless as it felt yesterday. Must be the lingering effect of a calming draught or the truly outrageous number of hours he spent sleeping.

"I'll be down there in twenty," he added swiftly as he threw back the covers and started to get up from the bed.

When he came downstairs about fifteen minutes later, dressed in clothes that fit him – after he was unable to locate his old ones in any of the rooms on the topmost floor – he found Sirius and Snape seated on the furthest side of the table from the door and Babbling and Regulus surrounded with piles of parchment on the opposite end of the table.

He quirked his eyebrow at Sirius as he passed by Regulus, saying a "Good morning" as he walked by and in reply he received some grunts.

He sat down next to Sirius and opposite to Snape, and still looking at Sirius, he asked as he motioned with his head at Regulus and Babbling, "What are they doing?"

"At the moment they're trying to decide whether or not your father was simply an unfortunate idiot or a monumental moron," commented Snape as he lowered the Daily Prophet he was holding.

"Well, I know where you stand on that, Professor," quipped Harry. "But why are they doing it?" he asked curiously as he looked at Sirius.

"Kreacher managed to locate Proudclaw while you were sleeping," replied Sirius with a slight grimace. "Reg's been going over the Black family accounts while Bathy commandeered the financial reports from the Potter family estate."

Harry's eyebrows flew to his hairline and he said cautiously, "I haven't received any."

"It's complicated," sighed Sirius heavily. "Technically you're the last living descendant of the main line of the Potter family so you should be receiving the financial reports. But also you're still a minor, therefore these reports should be made not to you but to your legal guardian."

"They weren't," said Harry quickly. "Because if the Dursleys realised that I have a pile of gold they would have gotten over their hate of the magical world, and magic in general for long enough to empty the vault and exchange all of it into pounds."

"The thing is, by goblin standards Petunia isn't considered as your legal guardian because your parents last will and testament named me as such," replied Sirius. "But because prisoners of Azkaban don't receive mail, the reports has been piling up. Since I haven't been picking it up, all of the reports eventually made their way to my grandfather, and together with the financial reports he received when he requested them from as far back as your father's seventeenth birthday, they produced that," he gestured towards the high pile of parchment by Babbling's side.

"Is there something I should know about?" asked Harry sceptically.

"That's what Bathy is trying to determine," said Sirius with a grimace. "What I managed to discover isn't good, but I only skimmed over the reports. Bathy on the other hand is being thorough."

Snape snorted just as tea appeared on the table.

"So how bad is not good?" asked Harry pointedly.

"It essentially boils down to his opening statement," answered Sirius as he jerked his head slightly towards Snape. "Unfortunate idiot or a monumental moron," he added with a soft snort. "What we do know for certain is that your parents' cottage in Godric's Hollow has been sized by the ministry as a national landmark, and that the Potter Manor itself at some point has been lost to a fire of suspicious origins."

That information didn't sadden him as much as it probably should have. He had no memories from the cottage and those he had weren't exactly good. He'd never before considered returning there, most probably not until he was an adult himself, and even then, he wasn't sure if that would be the place where he would want to live. And the idea of the Potter Manor seemed a bit abstract to him.

"Are there any other Potter family properties?" he asked pensively.

"I knew about a couple of them, mostly small cottages and a summer home in Tuscany. They've been relicts of the times when the family was big and spread out, but neither Henry nor Fleamont had a head or a heart to properly maintain them. If it was sorely up to him, Fleamont wouldn't even have renovated the cottage in Godric's Hollow, but James was adamant about gaining some independency so he eventually splurged on that. I have no idea how that Tuscan villa has been faring though. It's a summer home so it should have been used, but your parents didn't have a proper honeymoon so I know literally next to nothing about it."

"Because there's literally next to nothing left," said Babbling from over the pile of parchment. "The Manor perished in a fire, the cottage in Godric's Hollow has been sized as a national landmark. Urg has been liquidating habitable cottages in an attempt to keep the Potter accounts balanced. He managed to renovate a couple of the derelict ones and lease them out for a couple of years before he sold them too. And that Tuscany villa… don't even get me started."

"Sounds like a monumental moron," muttered Snape.

"That would be Potter Senior," said Babbling as she straightened herself. "It was owned by the Potter family, but I managed to find the deed to it that awarded the ownership of it to Dorea Black."

"Which is what I've been trying to find," added Regulus without looking up. "I'm also trying to find her last will and testament or at the very least a copy of it, but it isn't there."

"Which means that the copy of it was either in the Potter or Black manor," muttered Sirius.

"I'm leaning towards the Black manor," said Regulus sourly. "Dorea married a Potter but she died as a Black. She never wanted to have anything to do with James so I'm assuming that she thoroughly disinherited him."

"Which is why he's also going through the Black family properties and trying to find something in Tuscany," added Babbling.

"And because goblins like to comply their inventory lists of the properties by their names rather than locations I have to get through all of this," added Regulus as he patted the furthest pile on his right with his hand.

Compared to other piles of parchment that surrounded him it didn't exactly look imposing but it still looked like a lot of stuff to go through.

"Well, you have a list," Sirius pointed out casually.

"That does me fat lot of good considering that list refers only to the name of the country and not its specific regions," replied Regulus with a snort. "That pile," he tapped the same pile again, "contains only the list of our Italian properties."

"That's a lot," commented Harry curiously.

"Ancient and spread out family of considerable wealth," Regulus pointed out grimly. "And quite a lot of these deeds refer to properties that no longer exist but we still maintain ownership of the grounds on which they once stood. I won't be surprised if I will find in there a deed that awards us with a considerable amount of ownership of the grounds underneath Vatican City," he added with a snort.

"What about the Potter family vaults?" asked Harry as he looked at Babbling.

Babbling snorted softly, "What vaults?"

"How about you start with the ones that still generate any income?" offered Sirius patiently.

Babbling grimaced and shook her head but she reached for one of the folders that was laying on the top of one of the piles and opened it before she started reading, "Vault 1012. Nature: trustee vault. Ownership: Harrison James Potter. Restrictions: age restriction, the owner must turn 11 years old at the very least of the day of accessing it for the first time. Restrictions were met on 31st July 1991 when it was first accessed. Set up by James and Lily Potter on 9th August 1980. Upon establishing, it was supplemented with 1000 galleons from James Potter's private account and another 1000 galleons from Lily Potter's private account. According to the legal paperwork, it was supposed to be annually supplemented with that sum coming from both accounts on the anniversary of that day. In addition to that, James Potter redirected into that account the dividends that he received from the three patents once owned by Fleamont Potter. As usual, dividends were supposed to supplement the vault with income on 1st February for as long as patents remained valid. In addition to that, vault 1012 over the years has been supplemented with…" she looked expectantly at Regulus.

"Vault 711," said Regulus pointedly as he looked at Sirius. "On the very same day, with a donation of 1000 galleons…"

"Whoa," Sirius interrupted him quickly. "I didn't have that kind of money in there that day. I know that for certain. I requested a transfer of 100 galleons because that was as much as I could afford back then."

"I know," said Regulus dryly. "Which is why I looked up the expenses of vault 611 from that day, and curiously enough I found a transfer of 1000 galleons from that vault to vault 711, with an annotation to amend your transfer request to that sum," he explained and smiled at Sirius. "You might have walked away from the family, but your vault was in your name and still remained under Proudclaw's management."

"Son of a bitch," groaned Sirius and he shook his head. "Let me guess it isn't the only transfer that has gone through my vault, is it?" he asked and grimaced.

"According to the financial statements vault 711 supplemented vault 1012 with the sum of 1000 galleons on 31st July 1981; 3rd November 1981; 25th December 1981; 31st July 1982; 31st October 1982 and so on until 31st July 1991…" counted out Regulus.

"I didn't have that kind of money, and while I'm not as big of a maths whiz as either of you, we're talking about sums of tens thousands of galleons," objected Sirius firmly.

"Technically between 9th August 1980 and 31st July 1991 you deposited into that account 23 thousand galleons, which you didn't reportedly have," said Regulus before he reached for a folder. "But I did check, and in the year of 1981 a total transfer of 13 thousand galleons were made into your vault from vault 611. Then we have 12 thousand galleons in the year 1982 and every single one that followed until the year 1991."

"They hadn't been made at the same time, had they?" asked Harry pensively.

"No, what went into yours had been transferred on 31st July and 31st October. Those that went solely to Sirius were transferred on 3rd November each year."

"Until now?" asked Snape suddenly, he sounded mildly interested.

"Until the year of 1991 because that's how far I managed to get," replied Regulus. "The year of 1991 for you had closed with a total balance of 200 127 galleons and a pile of sickles I'm not even bothering to check."

"To whom does account 611 belong?" asked Snape curiously.

"Belonged, our grandfather Arcturus," explained Regulus. "Personal vault, I haven't even touched his sources of income."

"Remuneration for a misdeed?" mused Snape out loud.

"If you call being wrongfully imprisoned a misdeed," replied Sirius with a snort.

"Why would he do that?" asked Babbling pensively. "I mean, he was leaving everything to you anyway. Why keep adding to that?"

"Guilty conscience," Sirius said with a grimace. "That's most likely," he added and shook his head. "What about Harry?" he added, changing the subject. "What about the dividends from the patents?"

"The good thing is that they're still there, but they've been steadily running out and losing their worth. They never surprassed the sum of 1000 galleons a year, usually averaging on the level of about 750 to 500 till the year of 1989 when the most lucrative one expired. The last statement I found annually entitles 100 galleons to Harry from a patent that expires on 31st December 1995."

"And the Potter vaults?" asked Sirius pensively.

"You aren't going to like it," replied Babbling. "Per the Potters instructions their vaults supplemented vault 1012 with a total sum of 1000 galleons annually until the year of 1983. In year 1984 it went down to 500 galleons and in 1985 to 100 galleons."

"Wasn't that against the instructions?" observed Harry.

"Instructions to fill one's cup mean nothing if the jug from which you're supposed to pour the drinks is bloody empty," replied Babbling sourly.

"So I'm broke," said Harry calmly. His comment made Snape snort and he quickly added, "Well, broke aside of what I received from Sirius and by extension, his grandfather. But aside of that, that's it?" he asked with a frown.

"It's complicated," admitted Babbling. "Technically the Potter family has some shares in a couple businesses and received dividends from patents for many years. But it's a disheartening amount of money that barely covers the management of the vaults. The main Potter vault supplies all of the smaller vaults with enough income to keep them from closing, and they need to be kept from closing because only a Potter can close them, and you can only do that when you have reached your legal maturity. I'm not exactly a financial manager, but if I were you, I would have liquidated all of them with the exception of the main vault. The goblins will get you a nice compensation for freeing the vaults, especially vault 327, it costs an arm, a leg and half of a butt cheek to maintain and it doesn't have anything in it except air."

"Okay," nodded Harry slowly. "So what became of the money that was supposed to be there?" he added pensively. "Has it been stolen? I thought that no one dared to steal from Gringotts."

Well, no one except a Dark Lord in pursue of a magical artefact, he mused grimly.

"That's what started the entire discussion over the levels of your father's intelligence," commented Snape simply. "Your dogfather discovered yesterday that your father made transfers concerning truly ridiculous sums to one Percival Peverell."

"What for?" asked Harry with a frown. "Who is that guy?"

"That's one of the things which I'm trying to ascertain," replied Regulus. "But we have pretty strong suspicions that it's an alias used by one scheming old coot that is better known as Albus Dumbledore."

"Son of a…" slipped out of Harry's mouth but he managed to keep himself from finishing it. "And what did he need the money for?" he asked with a huff.

"The story that I'm sure he managed to feed James with, was for the war effort. You know, the sharing one's fortune with the less fortunate ones," answered Sirius sourly. "Safe houses, supplies for them, occasional bribes, potions ingredients."

"An entire vault of which was surrendered to him," interjected Babbling and she snorted. "I can understand sacrificing a portion of one's wealth to the war effort but that bloody moron didn't just sacrifice a vault filled with gold to Dumbledore, he bloody authorised Percival Peverell to withdraw from almost every single bloody vault except Harry's. Any sum of money Dumbledore wished at any given time, in any of the Gringotts branches all over the world. It's not even a swindle anymore, it's a daylight robbery that went on for years."

"Even after the war had ended?" asked Harry softly.

"Especially after the war had ended," said Babbling sourly. "The ministry reimbursed you for seizing the cottage in Godric's Hollow but that money disappeared from the vault the very day the deposit had been made."

"And that isn't the only problem," added Regulus. "What's even more outrageous is that in spite of being supposedly named a beneficiary of the Potter family's educational fund, which should exclude you from being charged with school fees, you're still paying them as if that fund didn't exist."

"Does Hogwarts has someone who checks out this kind of stuff?" asked Harry pensively.

"Yes, it does," answered Snape sourly. "They're called Headmaster or Headmistress. It's one of their responsibilities and curiously enough the only one that that twinkling old goat haven't dumped on McGonagall yet."

"And he never will," added Sirius with a snort. "Say what you want about Minnie but as faithful as she is to Dumbledore, she has a pretty strong moral compass, and if she discovered that Dumbledore has been double-charging people and getting away with it, she would rat him out, respect and Gryffindor loyalty be damned."

"Assuming that she would be able to find her own tail in it," replied Snape. "I took the liberty of acquainting myself with that brick called 'Hogwarts' Division of Duties' and I'm still contemplating the idea of beating Dumbledore to death with it."

"Good read?" quipped Regulus.

"Terrific," replied Snape icily. "I especially liked the part about proper compensation for additional duties in accordance to the actual work input."

"Feeling duped are you?" asked Sirius innocently.

"Quite so, you runaway mongrel," retorted Snape. "I have a First Class Mastery in three fields: Potions, Defence Against the Dark Arts and Arithmancy. And while I'm not a fully-fledged healer I'm a certified first responder and I moonlight for Pomfrey when she gets sick and can't get a replacement from St Mungo's, and while it doesn't happen often, it does happen. In addition to teaching Potions I actively supply the hospital wing with ninety percent of the required potions. On top of that I'm responsible for corralling a fourth of the school population."

"And you're not being paid enough for this shit," said Sirius briskly. "If the average wage of an Auror and Hit-Wizards in 1981 had been 500 and 700 galleons a month respectively, and only because Ministry passed that reward for dangerous lifestyle legislation, which essentially doubled the old wage…" he frowned for a moment. "That would mean that the average wage of a Hogwarts Professor would be at around two hundred…"

"Two hundred fifty per month," said Babbling sourly. "Supposedly for one full time job. That's what I'm getting for every month that I spend only teaching Ancient Runes. Then there's additional fifty per month in every school year in which I have Ancient Studies because it's an advanced course and I don't always have candidates for that."

"You got one hundred fifty for every month that you spent substituting for Vector," Snape pointed out.

"Which is another full time job for which I should be fully compensated," she replied swiftly. "But I'm not because it's not a full time position in my contract. Then there's the essentiality clause. I'm not teaching a core subject, I'm not a head of a house and therefore I'm charged for maintaining Hogwarts quarters and meals."

"I forgot about that," muttered Snape. "I get five hundred after the expenses of ingredients due to the fact that Potions are a core subject and being the head of Slytherin."

"That sounds relatively good," said Regulus slowly.

"Thanks to the inflation," said Snape with a snort. "I don't have the same contract as Bathsheda. She has a twenty years tenure. My contract is indefinite therefore the board can adjust my salary accordingly. I started off with two-hundred per month while both teaching Potions and heading Slytherin. While according to your great-great grandfather I should receive a full salary for every full time position I take upon myself. Which should get me nine hundred at the barest minimum. Plus one hundred for readiness to take over the Hospital wing if something happened to Pomfrey."

"How does that reflect on other people's salaries?" asked Harry pensively. "Say Mr Weasley, he works at the ministry."

"Weasley is a really bad example," said Babbling with a grimace. "As a Ministry worker, non-essential ministry worker I should add, he gets one hundred and seventy per month, plus another forty for being the head of his department. Which gives him a total of two thousand five hundred and twenty a year, but he has five children at school age and he's paying the full fees. Which leaves him with roughly twenty galleons to survive on."

"Isn't that daylight robbery?" asked Harry sceptically.

"It's not a daylight robbery Potter, it's poor family planning," Snape pointed out. "The concept of big families has been favoured in the wizarding world. Many of the less privileged families live on similar salaries, but majority of the parents bear in mind that while the upbringing of pre-Hogwarts children costs very little, Hogwarts fees are a murder to the family budget. That's why it's sensible to not have more than three children of Hogwarts age at the same time. Weasley has five and it reflects on his family budget."

"But to be fair they have no more children, and with Percival out of Hogwarts next year their financial situation should improve," added Babbling simply.

"It would improve even more if those two rascals got themselves expelled one day," Snape pointed out with a snort.

"I wouldn't count on that," interjected Babbling. "They're toeing the expulsion line but hasn't done anything that would warrant it. It's more likely that they will fail to climb above Acceptable on their OWLs which will leave them with no advanced classes and with their father being unable to cover the penalty fees they will have to be removed from Hogwarts."

"I wouldn't be counting on that," Snape said grimly. "Weasley is Dumbledore's staunchest supporter and his troublesome progeny could be considered by Dumbledore as essential to coning Potter into believing that everything is fine and dandy with the wizarding world. Therefore it's highly likely that if that happens, one of us will be cowed into taking those two into an advanced class."

"Not you, that's certain," replied Babbling with a snort. "Flitwick most likely," she added pensively.

"Or Hagrid," muttered Snape. "He's fond of those rascals, and if Dumbledore leans on him heavily enough he would lower the standards of his advanced class."

"Hagrid is teaching?" asked Harry curiously, a bit miffed that Hagrid didn't mention anything about it. "He's no longer the groundskeeper?"

"Yes and no, in that order," answered Babbling. "Your little trip to the Chamber of Secrets has cleared him from whatever charges had been hanging over his head for releasing the Slytherin Monster. That's why Dumbledore could offer him the vacating post of Care of Magical Creatures Professor. But he will still remain Hogwarts' groundskeeper."

"He didn't say anything," muttered Harry petulantly.

"Most likely doesn't want to jinx it," said Babbling with a shrug. "It's been a big secret that every teacher knows about. He isn't the most qualified candidate for that post but one that's almost completely supported by the staff unlike the others."

"Almost completely?" asked Harry as he glanced at Snape.

"Binns opinion doesn't really count," said Snape simply. "And yes, I supported his candidature."

"Against your academic judgment," interjected Babbling.

"His lack of certification on the subject isn't my concern, it's Dumbledore's. My concern on the other hand is maintaining a civil relationship with one of the sources of potions ingredients because it reflects on my budget. It's a small sacrifice to make for the lack of the new source of headaches," replied Snape crisply. "Besides, he can't be worse than Kettleburn has been in the last couple of years, and he does have an extensive knowledge on the subject of magical creatures."

"It's nice and interesting but haven't we strayed too far away from the original subject?" asked Sirius pointedly. "While I'm uncertain about the total balance of the Potter family estate, considering their chosen field of business prior to letting Dumbledore into it, there had to be at around a hundred thousand galleons…"

"The total net worth of the Potter family estate on the day of James Charlus Potter's seventeenth birthday had been estimated at two hundred and seventy-eight thousand, six hundred and fifty-seven galleons," interjected Babbling. "In gold only. I didn't get into estimating the value of potions ingredients because I'm still hunting down the potions vault inventory. But considering the family business, at the barest minimum it was worth about a half of that, most likely more."

"That's an absurd amount of money," noted Harry. "What would Dumbledore need it for?"

"He always had a truly ridiculous taste in robes," muttered Sirius.

"They aren't made from dragonhide though and he's been with that cousin of that dodgy classmate of his for ages," Snape pointed out. "The only thing he's most likely charged for is the cost of materials and even then I hazard a guess that it's with a very generous discount," he added and frowned for a moment. "Alchemy though," he muttered, "that's a costly hobby. Rare books, rare ingredients, bribes involved."

"How costly?" asked Harry pensively.

"Enough to be a hobby of the privileged few," replied Snape grimly. "Unless one has an inordinate stroke of luck and is capable of finding gems in at auctions of died out families. Doesn't happen very often because most goblins that lead the auctions, unlike some wizards, know the value of everything that's auctioned."

"Isn't alchemy the same as Potions?" asked Harry pointedly.

"Just as much as Charms and Transfiguration are the same subjects," commented Snape sourly. "After all there's a lot of foolish wand waving involved. Academically, alchemy for a very long time was referred as the study of magical properties of ingredients, while potions had been the practical application of alchemic knowledge."

"So while not every alchemist was a potioneer every potioneer to a certain degree was an alchemist," said Harry slowly. "But if alchemy is the study of the magical properties of ingredients then what is herbology?"

"The study of proper maintenance of plants, herbs and fungi, mostly of magical origins as the very definition of thereof claims. Something which I know is in the preface of your 'Magical Plants and Fungi'," answered Snape sharply.

"To be fair alchemy refers to all magical ingredients, not only of plant origins," added Babbling simply. "He's just being an arse because that bloody book reminded him about the Potions curriculum. And don't you dare to get him started on that because he can rant about it for hours on end."

"Justifiably," coughed Regulus.

"Can Kreacher finally serve breakfast because it's getting cold," interrupted Kreacher.

Against Babbling's advice and out of nothing but pure curiosity Harry, with Regulus' help, over breakfast did get to needle Snape about issues with the Potions curriculum. He quickly learned that the entire thing was outdated and updated for the last time about a hundred years ago. He was also informed that the entire concept of learning through brewing was a giant load of bollocks because it left no time for the basics of metallurgy that had a potential to affect the brewing process or how certain ingredients reacted.

By the time breakfast ended and Kreacher removed the empty plates from the table Snape's tirade dissolved into a discussion about how thorough reorganisation of the Potions curriculum would affect the curriculums of Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures, and how the changes made to that would affect the subject planning at Hogwarts. To Harry's bemusement he found out that Sirius and Snape agreed on the idea of minimalizing the numbers of hours per subject for the sake of teaching all subjects that Hogwarts offered from the very beginning. That in turn didn't sit well with Babbling and Regulus, who argued that it would cheapen the amount of education offered. Which in turn got them an argument how third years could sit their OWLs from elective subjects like Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Divination and Muggle Studies and after that decide which one of them they would like to pursue further on advanced levels. In return, Snape and Sirius received an argument that the same could be said about the core subjects because three years of learning would be enough to ascertain whether or not someone had a talent in whichever field.

They continued to argue in that manner for a little while longer, with Harry gently needling whomever he felt needed to elaborate their point. But in general he was soaking up all of the ideas and new information. And there was a lot of it to process. Eventually the discussion came to an end when Sirius and Snape had moved to the subject of Dark Arts and how much that curriculum required reorganisation. They had just gotten to a really interesting point of how portions of the curriculum that contained defence against magical creatures should be shifted into the Care of Magical Creatures curriculum when Sirius abruptly ended it, kicked Snape under the table and told him that he needed his help in the library.

Uncertain whether or not he should follow them, Harry opted to stay in the kitchen in order to needle Babbling for more information about the Potter family estate. It was something that he didn't come to regret in the end but it was a truly depressing read.

He learned that his ancestors had a well prospering business called Potter Beautifying Emporium or Imperium (neither he nor Babbling could decide how it was officially written in the documents because the writing was a bit smudged and looked like a chicken scratch to begin with). He also learned that Charlus' gambling debts nearly finished off both the business itself and a lion share of the family accounts. He also had also been informed that the majority of his ancestors were idiots by adhering to some inner tradition of maintaining empty vaults just to have them.

The most interesting part of that morning however, was an ancient looking deed written in runes, which Harry didn't understand at all but Babbling mercifully translated into English, that contained information about what she called the source of the centuries long animosity between the Potters and the Princes. Apparently it was a marriage contract between some fellow called Henry (very bloody original, as he quickly learned, Henry to the Potters was as popular a name as Sirius had been to the Blacks) Potter and Lucretia Prince that claimed that upon the day of marriage, the newlyweds would receive a fully equipped Potions shop in a village which name Harry couldn't repeat as it was Welsh. Not that he didn't try, but after he got it wrong on the fifth repeat he just shrugged off.

Babbling also had him track with Regulus' help the sources of income of his personal vault, which according to the last monthly statement from 1st August 1993 contained a total sum of 36 100 galleons. Which seemed like a lot even after reducing 2000 galleons for future Hogwarts fees but very little once he remembered how the money that he received from Sirius more than doubled the money left to him by his parents. Not that he cared about the money, he would much prefer to have his parents back rather than their money, but that didn't stop him from thinking that for his poor financial decisions he would very much like to kick his father in the arse.

And he very much deserved one, as thanks to him, from a family of considerable wealth, according to Babbling the financial equivalent of a high middle class or low upper class, the Potter family had gone almost completely broke. And while Harry technically owned some shares in a couple businesses and a handful number of patents, they generated just enough income to keep the total balance after excluding the contents of his own vault at roughly ten to fifty galleons a year, which according to Babbling wasn't enough to warrant a transfer to his vault because goblin fees would consume a large amount of the money left.

Then there was the matter of the money which his mother was supposed to receive as a bequest from Arcturus Black. Technically it was Harry's inheritance, but due to conditions of the will, until Harry became an adult or Sirius authorised a transfer, the money was considered as a frozen asset and therefore inaccessible.

The thing that brightened his mood considerably was the property bingo that at some point Regulus started to play with the help of the map of Italy and deeds to the Black family's Italian properties. He did find a couple of villas in Tuscany but none of them were owned at any point of time by a Dorea Black or Dorea Potter, or in fact any Dorea.

By the time lunch rolled around, and Regulus headed upstairs to drag Sirius and Snape down from wherever they had been holed up, or to check-up whether or not they had managed to murder each other. Under Babbling's watchful eye Harry was learning the runic alphabet, Elder Futhark to be exact.

Prior to doing that however, she explained how deeply the wizarding world depended on runes even though not many people pursued a basic education on the subject. According to Babbling, a lot of charms, especially the more advanced ones, had been deeply rooted in wand movements imitating drawing runes. Wards in particular depended heavily on tying one's blood or magic, or both to runes. And while there were wards that could be placed without anchoring stones they weren't as secure as those that had them.

And it wasn't that prior to choosing his elective subjects he didn't look up books on Ancient Runes in the library, just to check up what the subject really was about, but he found himself wishing he knew what Babbling told him before choosing his electives.

"What about Divination?" he asked once he finished copying the alphabet on the piece of parchment that Babbling gave him.

"What about it?" asked Babbling simply.

"Is it all about predicting one's future or is there more to it as there is to Ancient Runes?" he clarified.

"I'm literally the last person you should question about Divination," said Babbling with a grimace. "Particularly the brand of Divination that's taught at Hogwarts," she added and grimaced again. "Or it's teacher."

"Why not?" asked Harry curiously. "Did you suck at it at school? Or the Professor had it out for you like…" Snape had it for me with Potions he thought but didn't say.

"The art of divination is one of those subjects to which one has to have mental predisposition. Sure you can teach techniques of it to anyone and that's what Hogwarts is doing, but it's a waste of time for about ninety percent of the students that take it. The only thing it really does is cultivating old superstitions and trying to find meanings in the ever present signs. Depending on your own observation skills and or emotional sensitivity it allows you to con people into believing that you're a seer."

"Regulus said that a true talent in that field was rare," said Harry pensively. "Does the Professor have it?"

"Supposedly," snorted Babbling. "Dumbledore claims so. But unlike Dumbledore I did go to Hogwarts with her and had the misfortune of sharing the same house as her," she added sourly. "She was two years ahead of us and all of us cheered when her year finally graduated. She is one of the most oblivious people I ever met while at the same time scarily perceptive. It's a very dangerous combination, especially for people of weaker psyche, like say teenagers at the brink of puberty. On top of that she's a fatalist, it's not that she isn't able to pick up 'good vibes' from her surroundings but it's like between her mind and her mouth there's a filter that allows only doom, gloom and gore to emerge from it. She will single you out within five minutes and then proceed to spend the rest of your divination education at predicting your ultimate and most likely very painful demise."

"So according to you I should drop it?" asked Harry pointedly.

"If it was sorely left up to me Divination wouldn't be a subject taught at Hogwarts. But I'm biased because the curriculum of advanced divination absorbed a lion share of the curriculum of the subject that I do teach to advanced students," replied Babbling and she snorted. "I don't remember which monumental moron of a Headmaster decided that Ancient Studies as an elective subject should be assimilated by other subjects leaving me essentially with bare bones of a once very extensive and fascinating subject, but I hope that he or she, is rotting in hell. Luckily for me and the majority of students interested in it, about two thirds of the scrapped curriculum got assimilated into Ancient Runes and Charms. Sadly the more mystical arts of it were thrown into advanced Divination. Which is bloody ridiculous if you ask me. Occlumency techniques, the art of closing one's mind from external intrusion, are taught by someone who is unable to apply them to herself."

"Why?" asked Harry curiously.

"Supposedly because they foggy her third eye or something, or so she says," replied Babbling lividly. "I presume that the real reason why she cannot apply them is because it would mean that she will have to filter her thoughts and she has no filter whatsoever. Well, except the one that filters optimistic thoughts from passing through her mouth, that one is in excellent condition."

"So what would you recommend instead?" asked Harry.

"Not Muggle Studies. Charity is a good teacher but the Muggle Studies curriculum is a mess that she's been trying to change for ages, but because the changes she proposed to them are outlandish to the members of the board, and they are the only ones that can propose a change of the curriculum to the Ministry, the only thing she's been doing is tilting at the windmills," replied Babbling.

"And between Ancient Runes and Arithmancy?" prodded Harry. "Because I'm required to pick two electives and I only have one."

"Can't help you with making that choice," sighed Babbling. "Basic understanding of both helps a lot with spellcasting and spellcrafting once you start to apply them in practice, but in order to get there you need to learn a lot of theory which sometimes can feel like a thankless task. If there's one thing which I can recommend, it is using the exemption month which all third year students are entitled to have to check out which one of the elective subjects suits you more. Who knows maybe you will be a divination prodigy."

"Exemption month?" asked Harry curiously.

"You haven't been told about that?" asked Babbling sceptically. "Poor Minnie," she added with a shake of her head, "it's unlike her to forget about the exemption month. She loves exemption month, especially when she's talking to that cow Trelawney. She takes almost sadistic pleasure from informing her how many prospective death prediction subjects has decided to abandon her class. To be fair she does the same to me, Charity, Septima and in the past Kettleburn, but we have a much lower dropout rate than she does," she added and snickered softly. "One year of 1984/85 an entire third year Divination class dropped out during exemption month. It was glorious, especially at the heels of her two fourth years, her only fourth year students moving to France and transferring to Beauxbatons, removal of three pregnant fifth years into home schooling and expulsion of a pair of really nasty troublemakers, also her only fifth year students, and on the top of not having advanced students..."

"You don't like her very much," observed Harry.

"When we were at Hogwarts, as students," started Babbling grimly, "Trelawney had a natural talent for picking targets to feed them with her visions of doom and gloom. Mostly homesick first years, Muggleborns, people with a difficult situation at home. No matter the background they were people of a certain degree of vulnerability. In my fourth year, I wasn't a Prefect back then and I had my own share of problems so I tended to tune her out, she latched herself on a Muggleborn first year with a really bad situation at home and she whispered into her ear visions of the horrors that awaited her once she returned from Hogwarts," she paused and swallowed. "She couldn't stand it, her fear of Trelawney's visions becoming true…" she paused again. "So on 1st November 1975, the Friday before Hogsmeade weekend, a Halloween Hogsmeade weekend when even the prefects were distracted, she slipped away, climbed up the Astronomy Tower and jumped. She was found dead in the morning and the whole thing had been hushed up."

Harry swallowed tickly.

"It's not a matter of personal like or dislike, Harry," continued Babbling. "For most of the time she behaves like a harmless oddball that's easy to tune out. Most students treat her as such and her subject as a relatively easy grade, one of the easiest electives that Hogwarts offers. But for every student that ignores her there's always one that doesn't, and if they're vulnerable…" she hung her voice. "I didn't do anything to save that poor little girl, I didn't even try. But if I can remove another vulnerable student from underneath her influence in order to ensure that what happened to that little girl will never happen again I will do everything in my power to do so. Capiche?"

"Capiche," said Harry quickly, just as Regulus, with Sirius and Snape trailing at his heels, entered the kitchen.

"What have you been up to?" asked Sirius curiously as he approached them and ruffled Harry's hair affectionately.

"Discussing how to handle manipulative individuals," replied Harry. "So, I have a question for you. Ancient Runes or Arithmancy?"

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next:** Harry has a talk with Lupin about mental health and chronic diseases.


	8. Chapter 08 - Werewolf on SSRI.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has a talk with Lupin about mental health and chronic diseases. He also gets his own room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Word count:** About 4100.
> 
> **Author's note:** What can I say? Harry is intelligent (especially when he's not preoccupied with usual teenage drama) kid and figures out something. It was also a nice opportunity to give him a one-on-one conversation with Lupin.
> 
> **Next chapter will be posted on Tuesday 23rd February 2021.**
> 
> **Beta read by Regnbuen (Nitraz).**
> 
> _I hope that You will find this story enjoyable. I would be the most grateful for constructive criticism._

_One need not be a chamber to be haunted, one need not be a house. The brain has corridors surpassing material place._

_~Emily Dickinson_

**Secrets & Keepers – Entropy**

**Chapter eight: Werewolf on SSRI.**

_Harry Potter, 10_ _th_ _August 1993, 12 Grimmauld Place, London_

He had his books, notebooks and loose pieces of parchment spread out in front of him, all over the coffee table on the ground floors sitting room, and was technically supposed to work on his Potions summer essay, but so far his essay consisted only of a title.

He promised himself yesterday before going to sleep that the Potions essay would be the one he would work on tomorrow, because during dinner, after spending the better part of the day cooped up with Sirius and later on also Regulus, in the library, Snape admitted, with a look of someone who had all of their teeth pulled out without anaesthesia, that amongst his possessions he found Harry's mother's potions textbooks that she reportedly threw after him after a failed attempt at reconciliation of their friendship.

And while Harry didn't doubt the admission that they had been thrown after him, he did doubt Snape's willingness to part with a single one of them, let alone three. Especially after Tonks, who along with Lupin had returned to Grimmauld Place for dinner, both in a peculiar, tetchy mood, casually mentioned that Magical Drafts and Potions had five books in their set. That comment earned her a glare from Snape and a comment how her poisons and antidotes had been faring.

So instead of needling Snape about what became of the other two Harry emphatically decided to not broach the subject. Even if they were still in Snape's possession, his mother had once been his friend, and if that was the only thing that was left of her… Harry couldn't imagine the idea of losing either Ron or Hermione physically after a fall out of their friendship. In fact he couldn't imagine anything that could possibly cause that, but if something similar to what happened to Snape's friendship with Harry's mother happened to him and his friends, he would be guarding his stupid copy of Quidditch Through the Ages with Ron's notes, like a dragon guards a pile of gold.

Nevertheless, leafing through the copy of Mum's Magical Drafts and Potions grade 3 occupied him well into the night before Sirius marched him up to his new bedroom.

The bedroom itself was once Sirius's bedroom that in the span of a day had undergone a drastic change in the décor. And while Kreacher did interrupt his Ancient Runes lessons with Babbling during the afternoon with bringing a couple of wallpaper samples to ask which one Master Harry liked the best, Harry made nothing of it until Sirius showed him his new bedroom.

It was breathtakingly beautiful. The vibrant green interactive wallpaper with soft golden accents of a moving forest filled with animals that roamed it, was matched with less heavy looking cherry wood. The bed, instead of a four-poster one of the past, had a tall padded headboard that was just high enough for Harry to sit up and lean against without smashing his head against the edge of it. The footboard of it was much lower but still tall enough to have folded throws and blankets hanging over it.

A boggart-dementor infested heavy wardrobe was exchanged with two narrower wardrobes and a chest of drawers. Next to the door hung a tall, full-length mirror. The window was surrounded by bookcases, mostly empty with the exception of books that Kreacher had to take out of Harry's trunk. The padded window-seat looked exactly as it looked previously, with the only difference being the colour of the wood and the vibrant green cushions. Instead of the old, heavy desk, there was a delicately looking table with fresh notebooks, a box of quills and couple of inkpots.

He was so deeply touched and taken by surprise that it had taken him a couple of minutes to find his voice, just to mumble thank you into Sirius's chest as he hugged the older man tightly.

"You're welcome," said Sirius as he hugged him tightly. "I'm sorry that we didn't get to pick them together…"

"Doesn't matter," Harry interrupted him. "It's great. It's more than I ever got from…"

He didn't finish because the look that passed through Sirius' face was a menacing glower that promised Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia a lot of nasty things.

Technically he could be working on his essay up in his bedroom, but he came with his, well his mum's potions textbook to breakfast, and afterwards got himself manoeuvred into helping Lupin with carrying a stack of books and a tall pile of parchment, both of which Snape had dumped almost literally on him as soon as the table was cleared.

So while Harry was supposed to work on his essay, Lupin holed himself up in an armchair with his stacks of parchment and books, and they had been supposedly working like that for the last two hours. Until a couple of minutes ago, during a break from taking notes of his mum's second grade book, Harry was struck by a sudden thought.

Ever since he arrived at Grimmauld Place he had hardly been left alone for further and longer than it took him to use the bathroom, and while it was understandable as long as Grimmauld Place looked like an ominous house of horrors and doom and gloom, Kreacher, between preparing meals in the last two days, had cleaned it up considerably. He still had a lot of work to do, but between Sirius and Regulus he made a sufficient dent in removing potentially dangerous items out of Harry's vicinity.

And yet, there he was, for the lack of the better word, babysat like a three year old toddler instead of thirteen year old teenager. The day before yesterday, the time he didn't spend sleeping were spent mostly in Sirius's company. Yesterday it was Babbling and Regulus throughout the day, and Sirius through the evening until he had fallen asleep. Sirius was also there when he woke up, in his dog form, pretending to nap when Harry woke up.

And now there was Lupin. Not that his presence interrupted him in any way. Lupin didn't make any noise and appeared to be engrossed in his own work, but that didn't change the fact that he was still there.

Then his thoughts had flew back to the conversation he had with Sirius in the bathroom the day before yesterday. About not considering being a vessel of Voldemort's soul piece as a death sentence. Then Babbling's comments came to mind, about that vulnerable little girl who committed suicide under the influence of the current Divination professor. Then came another thought about Snape and his mother's potions textbooks.

Was he on a suicide watch?

"Am I on a suicide watch?" he asked out loud.

"Hmm," hummed Lupin from his armchair. "What?" he asked as he looked up from his book.

"Am I on a suicide watch?" Harry repeated the question as he looked straight at Lupin.

Lupin's face did something. He opened his mouth, most likely to protest but then he appeared to change his mind, closed it, opened again, grimaced and closed his book with a slight thud.

He put it down on the table by the armchair and stood up, crossing the room to sit down on the couch behind Harry. Harry who took it as an invitation to do the same hoisted himself from the floor and sat on the couch turning himself towards Lupin.

"He's worried," said Lupin slowly. "Understandably so. This kind of news would be a lot to take in even to an adult with a perfectly balanced psyche."

"Regulus called it an inconvenience," said Harry.

"It is," agreed Lupin pensively. "Although personally, rather than that, I would consider it as something more similar to a chronic disease."

Like lycanthropy, mused Harry.

"You didn't choose to become that and you most certainly didn't ask for it, but you're the one that has to live with it," said Lupin slowly.

"Like you have to live with your furry problem?" asked Harry.

"Yes," nodded Lupin and he chuckled softly. "Your dad dubbed it as such, little furry problem he called it," he added for clarification. "Made it sound as if I owned a badly behaving rabbit instead of changing into a bloodthirsty beast every time the full moon rolled around."

"What's it like?" asked Harry cautiously. "Living with it, I mean."

Lupin hummed, scratched his chin and turned a bit more towards Harry before he crossed his right leg over his left knee and finally answered, "I was very little when I was turned. About five years old, so I have very few memories from the period of time when I wasn't a werewolf. But the earliest memories I have from after…" he paused for a moment. "Is pain and fear. Constant and ever present. The transformation itself is a very painful process, one to which the human body isn't accustomed to, not even many years later. Perhaps the thing that makes it worse is the knowledge that it's forced and unwanted, I don't know. But the pain of the transformation into a werewolf is nowhere near as bad as the reverse, because at the very least when you're transforming into a werewolf, while you're physically weak, most of the time you aren't injured."

"And that isn't always the case with the reverse transformation," offered Harry softly.

"Post-transformation injuries are very common," explained Lupin slowly. "You've got to remember that a transformed werewolf is not an unlucky sod that has a misfortune of turning into a wolf about once a month that gets to spend the full moons sleeping in his own bed. No," he paused, "a transformed werewolf is a bloodthirsty apex predator that will tear apart everything and everyone in its way to find two things, food and a new vessel for the disease it's carrying. And when there's nothing or no one to attack it will take out its frustration on itself, and injuries incurred in that form remain on the body that's transforming back. I have no memory of ever wearing short sleeves or trousers as a child, and I've lost count of how many fingers that's been hanging by a thread and how many times my father had to reattach them," he added as he extended his left arm towards Harry wriggling his fingers.

Much like the fingers of the adults he knew, Lupin's fingers were long and calloused, but there was something funky about his left pinkie. It was slightly bent when the rest of Lupin's fingers were straightened out, and instead of moving properly when Lupin wriggled his fingers, it only jerked slightly for about a couple of millimetres.

"I've bitten it off nice and clean when I was ten," said Lupin. "Good thing that I didn't eat it," he added with a self-depreciating twitch of his lips. "My dad managed to reverse the necrosis and reattach it, but it hasn't been working properly since then. It's good that it's a nearly bloody useless one," he added with a grimace.

"It could have been worse," commented Harry. "You could have bitten off the right thumb."

"That would really suck," agreed Lupin and he chuckled softly. "Coming back to your question though," he added. "In the very beginning I was a mess. I remember looking at my parents, lovely, caring people that nursed me through my injuries, and wanting to tear them into pieces. I hated that, I hated myself for feeling like that. I was angry, an awful lot, mostly at myself for sneaking out on a full moon night out of the house. I can't even remember now what for. At the werewolf that bit me. At my parents for bringing me to Muggle doctors that fixed me up. At the doctors for doing so. Again at myself for surviving it," he paused for a moment.

"But you learned to live with it," said Harry gently.

"Eventually," agreed Lupin with a soft hum. "But not completely. Differentiating my own thoughts and emotions from that of the wolf has helped a lot. But it was a royal pain in the arse for the better part of my childhood. Blessedly my mother was a saint and my father, he always felt responsible for what happened to me. They let me get away with a lot of shit, maybe a little too much than they should have, but they hadn't stopped looking for ways to fix my monthly problem. They certainly sacrificed a lot for that. My Mum never returned to work so she could stay with me while I recovered from the bite, and even though she was a Muggle herself, she spent her days pouring over new books that Dad kept bringing around in search for a cure. We also moved an awful lot and I have no memory of ever staying long enough in one place to even begin making tentative friendly overtures towards other children," he paused for a moment and scratched his chin with his right hand. "Hogwarts helped a lot, being allowed to attend it had been a huge relief and…" he paused again. "That twinkling crook certainly held that over my head for a very long time."

"And at Hogwarts?" Harry gently prompted him.

"On the Hogwarts Express I…" said Lupin and paused briefly. "Can't exactly call it making friends, but at the time it seemed like such, I befriended that traitorous rat, Pettigrew. Like me he was a reserved child, smaller and scrawnier though. I hit a grow spurt the summer before Hogwarts and I towered over him considerably, not that I ever managed to outgrow Sirius until we were adults, and even then it was a matter of a millimetre or two at the most. Pettigrew and I got sorted into Gryffindor along with Sirius and your father. We didn't befriend each other right away but we managed to coexist in one dormitory without too many fights. James and Sirius had their own thing with causing lots of mischief almost from the very beginning."

"And you?" asked Harry curiously.

"And I was there to learn, as much as I could, and possibly as fast as I could, because in the back of my mind I had this sometimes overwhelming fear that my secret would be found out and that I would be removed from Hogwarts. It certainly put a damper on the idea of making friends, especially once Pettigrew started hanging around James and Sirius more than he did with me," answered Lupin. "I tried to not let it bother me much, but I didn't realise how much I craved company until one day I just found myself gradually being pulled into discussions and arguments over pranks. I think that James started it, with some idea for a prank, a time sensitive one and that for some reason he couldn't find Sirius. So he started talking to me, at me at first, and before I knew what happened I was drawing out plans for that insane scheme. Sirius himself, after he returned from wherever he had gone, shot it down as unoriginal, took a good look at it, made some notes and told us that we will do this that way. Then it happened again and again, and before I realised it, I was no longer the outsider."

"What sort of friends were they?" asked Harry curiously.

"Early on?" mused Lupin. "Loud, obnoxious, very exuberant, although to be fair, James far more than Sirius. Trouble-makers and trouble-finders. Not that there weren't things which they didn't treat seriously. When we discovered that Pettigrew had been struggling with his studies so badly that McGonagall threatened him with holding him back for another first year if his grades won't improve, they sat down with me to prepare a revision plan, and they stuck to it with a clockwork precision. It didn't matter if a minute to an hour we were in the midst of planning another prank, the moment the clock struck a whole hour, it was gentlemen get your books out."

"Did it help?" asked Harry sceptically.

"In a way," said Lupin with a grimace. "Individual levels of magic and control over it varies from person to person. Then there's magical maturity which happens later in life. To some people it's a gradual process while to some it's a huge boost of power. The three of us had the luck of belonging to the first group and it looked that Pettigrew belonged to the latter. Can't tell for certain and to be frank I don't exactly care."

"Neither do I," agreed Harry. "I just wanted to know if it worked."

"He kept passing from year to year, sometimes with bigger or lesser effort," admitted Lupin.

"What about you?" prompted Harry. "Did your condition affect you as a student?"

"More than I would have liked," said Lupin with a grimace and he gestured at Harry's books. "I sure missed an awful lot of classes, but between Sirius and James' notes, and sometimes your mother's, I managed to not fall behind too much. Except Potions, that had always been a horror, and not because I just couldn't learn it. My theoretical knowledge of OWL level Potions is pretty fine, it's the brewing that's always been the problem…"

"Due to your oversensitive nose?" asked Harry.

"You've been told?" asked Lupin curiously.

"It came out during the discussion about whatever or not you would be able to track Reg here," admitted Harry. "Sirius also said that thanks to that they were the cleanest teenage boys in their entire year."

"For about half of an hour after the shower maybe," replied Lupin with a grimace. "Teenagers, hormones, two Quidditch players in the dormitory, lots of sweat and don't even get me started on aftershave. James kept sleeping in the common room for two weeks in our fourth year after he started to shave. Not that he had a lot to shave, just this single, tiny hair on the edge of his chin," he added as he pointed at his own chin. "It was so tiny that when he exclaimed that he was growing a beard we had to break out the magnifying lens to see it."

Harry snorted at that.

"But he decided to shave it, so the next morning he gathered all of us in the bathroom to observe the process. It was a miracle that with Sirius' running commentary he didn't nick himself. It would have been all fine if he didn't decide to use the aftershave. I don't know what it was, but I started sneezing immediately as soon as he opened the bottle, and he used so much of it that even Sirius and Pettigrew started sneezing too. We put him by the window to air him out but it didn't really help," added Lupin. "It even got worse during the day, at first we suspected that it was due to its ingredients, but later we discovered that the fucker had been using it during the day because he thought that it would make him smell even manlier."

"So he got the riot act," chuckled Harry.

"And he never failed to remind us about it when we all started shaving about a year later, and by that time we actually had something to shave. Well, more than James had when he started, especially Sirius, Pettigrew and I had lighter hair so stubble on us wasn't as visible as it was on him. Then there was this giant ban on facial hair, McGonagall's doing, she abhorred this trend that had been going around school, this ruggedly handsome, I lost my razor, Professor look. Which was okay as long as you actually didn't lose your razor or hadn't fallen a victim to a prank involving a hair growing potion. James loved doing that to Sirius, supposedly for using his shaving cream," said Lupin with a small smile.

"And Sirius just let it go?" asked Harry curiously.

"Sirius?" snorted Lupin. "Sirius had always been one determined fucker. He doesn't give up, not once he fixates himself on something," the atmosphere in the room shifted slightly. "He's physically incapable of giving up, not on someone he cares for and not without one hell of a fight. He will find a way to get this," Lupin pointed at Harry's scar, "out of you with you alive and unharmed. You've got to believe that Harry."

"I'm trying," mumbled Harry. "Or someone has been dosing me with calming draughts for the past couple of days."

"Don't knock off artificial help just yet," sighed Lupin. "People came up with them for a reason. They help, sometimes more, sometimes less. They got me through a real dark period of my life, after…" he hung his voice. "After your parents," he started again, "and Pettigrew died… I was in a very bad place. To a werewolf people they're close to are pack, and the loss of it…" he paused again. "The loss of all of you. I couldn't even get to see you because Dumbledore claimed that it wasn't safe, and while I hated every minute of it I couldn't argue, not about your safety, not when you were the only one left," whispered Lupin softly. "I was a physical and mental mess, I stopped caring and for some period of time also about whatever I live or die. I probably would have died if my father didn't get to me in time. He did his best to sort me out, not that he had it easy, with my condition, putting me in a psychiatric hospital for more intensive treatment wasn't an option. So I eventually ended up on a mixture of potions and anti-depressants that I've been taking for a very long time."

"Did they help?" asked Harry softly.

"Eventually," sighed Lupin. "Therapy helped more. Luckily my father found a squib psychiatrist who I didn't have to hide who and what I am, from. He helped me come with terms with the fact that for the wolf, no matter if I considered him a murderer and a traitor, Sirius was still pack, and that in order to keep the wolf less restless I needed the proximity of Azkaban."

"And then you learned that you've been wrong all along," sighed Harry.

"Yeah, that sucks but that's between me and Sirius. Of course the judgemental looks I'm getting for despoiling his baby cousin aren't helping. But once he gets it into his head that she's no longer the kid he used to play with, but an adult woman, he will come around. Not that he's completely blameless," admitted Lupin with a grimace. "But that's the lack of communication between the two of us, effect of lack of the mutual support and putting other things and people ahead of our friendship. I shouldn't have done it, he shouldn't have done it, and we both paid the price for doing so. Please, learn from our mistakes," he added softly.

"I wish I could," mumbled Harry. "But I can't exactly write to Ron or Hermione about this," he jabbed his scar, "or Pettigrew, especially to Ron because that would spook him."

He wasn't told how the adults planned to handle Pettigrew, but the only thing he did get on that subject was that the capture of Pettigrew was supposed to happen once the Weasleys returned to England.

"But you can write about other things," Lupin pointed out.

"Technically I'm spending the summer with Snape," replied Harry.

"Well, I'm sure that you can come up with a way to include that," said Lupin as he pointed at Harry's, technically Harry's Mum's potions textbooks. "Or the horror of learning that Snape and Lily were pals at school. Or how you got there in the first place."

"The last thing is a lie," muttered Harry referring to the cover story the adults came up with.

"Why you left the Dursleys isn't," Lupin made the argument. "Venting your spleen helps, sometimes more, sometimes less. And you get to call Dumbledore an idiot fair a square, you certainly have a good enough excuse," he added with small twitch of his lips.

"I bet that you wouldn't be able to come with the most outrageous name imaginable for him," said Harry cheekily.

"Oh Harry, you sweet summer child," sighed Lupin. "Didn't Sirius teach you yet that you shouldn't bet against a Marauder?" he asked pointedly. "Especially one that lives in a fishermen village in Yorkshire. I know so many curses and expletives that can put Messrs Working Class Wizard and Upper-class Wizarding Twats into shame. Now take your pencil and your notebook and start writing down…"

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next:** Hermione meets Arcturus's old friend.


	9. Chapter 09 - Old Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lazarus raises from the grave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word count: About 3600.
> 
> **Author's note:** Yes, I shamelessly borrowed that scene from another favourite fandom of mine. I liked the premise of that scene but I went the completely different route that its original author(s).
> 
> **Next chapter will be posted on Tuesday 9th March 2021.**
> 
> **Beta read by Regnbuen (Nitraz).**
> 
> _I hope that You will find this story enjoyable. I would be the most grateful for constructive criticism._

_You can kiss your family and friends good-bye and put miles between you, but at the same time you carry them with you in your heart, your mind, your stomach, because you do not just live in a world but a world lives in you._

_~Frederick Buechner_

**Secrets & Keepers – Entropy**

**Chapter nine: Old Friends.**

_Hermione Granger, 10_ _th_ _August 1993, Bath._

The two days that she spent at Black Manor had sufficiently calmed her down. The park that surrounded the manor was beautiful, the weather was holding up with just the right amount of warmth, and the gentle breeze coming from the giant lake by which the manor was located, provided an occasional relief.

The Black elves, especially Arcturus's manservant, Tommy, proved to be fascinating, as did everything that she learned about their culture and habits. Granted, not all the history of the elves that she learned was nice, but she could see for herself that the elves were treated well, with respect and given an unlimited freedom with how the manor was ran. Tommy ran the manor with a mixture of iron fist and understanding, the schedule which they followed contained more days off than days of actual work, every elf worked on something they liked to do or were good at.

She also learned that Hogwarts had elves, which shouldn't have taken her by surprise as much as it did. Weirdly their presence there made sense, far more than plates filled with food that just appeared at the meal times out of nowhere. Tommy informed her that Hogwarts' elves consisted of one elven tribe called Piglets that came to work for Hogwarts when it was first founded, and that they were descendants of free elves of old as much as the new ones. There were also elves from wizarding families that didn't wish to part with their young masters.

She had wasted no time in questioning Tommy about Dobby and how his situation related to other elves, which was how she learned about the Great Elven Purge on the Mourning Grounds, an event during which thousands of elves had lost their lives thanks to the wizards that tried to tie them even closer to their families than before. But the most important thing that she had taken away from Tommy's story was that elves could walk away from their masters at any time the very moment they no longer wished to serve them. Receiving clothes was just an excuse that the elves from families like the Malfoys needed. Then Tommy pointed out that if he treated every instance in which he had been handed or at times had literally thrown clothes at his head as an excuse to be freed he would have walked away from serving Arcturus within the first week.

She also learned that the majority of elves that did the work around the manor were adults, the elders were responsible for proper upbringing of older elflings, the babies stayed with their mothers until they could run freely on their own and control their magic. There were no elfling servants, the only time an elfling was appointed as a servant was when an old elven steward and Master Black agreed that his heir, and also the elfling chosen by the steward, were old enough to learn how to give and carry out orders. Even then, the limit of orders was pretty limited by both. Until it was decided that the young master and elf were responsible, and trusted each other and their own limits, that's it. That said, Tommy became Arcturus's manservant at the age of four, when according to Tommy, Arcturus was first fitted for breeches. The bond the two shared fascinated Hermione. Tommy was a devoted servant but had no problems telling Arcturus off if any suggestion the older man made interfered with the way Tommy ran the house.

"It's servitude, not slavery," said Tommy to Hermione in the past two days, enough times for it to become a mantra.

And historically, as she learned, it had been. At the very least before the purge and in certain families afterwards, with those tribes that survived the purge. Arcturus' elves were lucky to do so, not that Tommy had a high opinion about the Master Black that saved majority of the elves from the purge by ordering them to choose amongst themselves those that would be sacrificed. Purely economic move on his side, Tommy called it, sacrificing all of the adults in the purge would be a financial murder to the family.

When she wasn't listening to Tommy or taking long walks, she was trying to prod Arcturus into revealing more about Sirius' visit to the manor. She learned that such a thing took place from Tommy when she questioned him about the weird shudder that passed through the grounds about a couple of hours after she and Arcturus returned from Paris.

She didn't get to see the man herself, but the visit had left Arcturus in a peculiar mood that lasted through the rest of the day and all the way until lunch the next day. When prompted he confirmed that Sirius had been there and that he was the new head of the Black family, but he didn't clarify what it meant and what he wanted from Arcturus.

Finally, after the empty plates had been cleared, Arcturus appeared to shake himself off from his mumbling stupor and proclaimed that it was the highest time to raise from the grave. He hadn't however clarified what it mean to Hermione until after dinner when he requested her presence during a reveal of his not exactly dead state to his old time friend.

Which was how she found herself seated in a quite nice, and very luxurious Muggle restaurant in Bath, eyeing the man at the neighbouring table and wondering where the hell Arcturus had disappeared.

The man in question was Damocles Greengrass, Arcturus' old friend from Hogwarts, a fellow Slytherin and either a head of the Greengrass house or the father of thereof. From what she could see of the man, Greengrass shared a similar physique with Arcturus, he was tall, lean and impeccably dressed. Like Arcturus he was clean shaven and wore his hair long, unlike Arcturus' though, his hair was completely white.

At the moment, Greengrass was busy with fiddling with his water glass as he was reading the menu. He did so without hurry and didn't try to attract the waitress' attention. Occasionally he raised his eyes from above the menu and allowed his gaze to lazily trail over the other guests. A time or two his gaze had settled on Hermione, who tried her best to either mind her own starter, or keep her gaze averted to the table behind Greengrass or at the kitchen door.

When she finally spotted Arcturus she nearly groaned, allowing only a soft sigh to emerge from her mouth and she felt very tempted to slam her head against the table. This was going to be a disaster.

Arcturus upon the entrance to the restaurant had been dressed in a pinstriped Muggle suit, had changed into a tuxedo, much alike the ones which the restaurant's waitresses were wearing. In his hand he held a bottle of wine and he immediately started walking towards Greengrass's table.

What procced afterwards was the most pitiful attempt at trying to convince Greengrass to try out the wine that Arcturus was holding, in very bad French. The only remotely funny thing about it was Greengrass' bored comment to Arcturus' mumbles with a request to 'Surprise me' and Arcturus' reply, 'Certainly endeavouring to, sir.'

It was a mess and one in which she wasn't sure she wanted to participate. She had no experience in similar reveals, but what she knew about receiving and passing shocking news was that it was something that shouldn't be done in public. This was going to end badly, she could feel that.

About a moment later, when Arcturus was about to get back to the table with the same bottle of wine, something happened in the kitchen and Arcturus had been pulled back by another waiter.

The kitchen door didn't allow much of the noise to pass, but slightly anxious over what could have happened, she completely forgot to keep her eye on Greengrass. That's why she nearly jumped out of her chair when someone placed their hand on hers and said softly, "Walk with me."

She looked up and saw Greengrass standing by her table. He didn't appear to be angry or annoyed, in fact it looked like he was trying hard to keep himself from smirking.

"Sir?" she asked, trying her best to keep the anxiety out of her voice.

"Preferably before the undead penguin comes back," offered Greengrass.

"You knew," whispered Hermione.

"Outside," said Greengrass with a small twitch of his lips.

"I have to pay," protested Hermione.

"It's been covered, come on. We're not getting very far away from here," she received in reply.

And they hadn't gone very far. Greengrass led them out of the restaurant with the maître's bowing when they had been passing by. They barely made it to the end of the block and crossed the street before Greengrass directed her towards a small outdoor café. He ordered them a cup of tea and a piece of the apple pie each, before he steered Hermione towards the furthest table from the entrance.

"Well, Ms…" started Greengrass expectantly once they sat down.

"Granger," replied Hermione. "Hermione Granger, Mr Greengrass."

At the mention of her name, Greengrass' lips twitched slightly. She didn't expect him to recognise her surname, but then she remembered Daphne Greengrass from her class, and while she wasn't certain who Daphne was to him, granddaughter or great-granddaughter probably, she had to bring up Hermione's name in a conversation with him at some point during last couple of years.

"Damocles please," said Greengrass. "My father had been Mr Greengrass, and he has been dead for a couple of decades by now," he added and this time allowed himself to smile. "And yes, I do know your name. My granddaughter talks, quite a lot, and considering the company she's forced to keep, not always favourably about those who deserve it. I believe that she described you as an overcompensating beaver," he added briskly. "Try not to hold it against her, that poor girl has to deal with the Pinks descendants, both at home and at school."

"Never heard of them," admitted Hermione.

"I would be surprised if you had. The male line has been thoroughly extinct for a couple of decades by now, but their female line…" he said and shook his head. "They've been the pain in many pureblood backsides. I have to give them justice, they're beautiful women and they age well, but they are small-minded, extremely prejudiced and many of them suffer a delusion of grandeur like my unfortunate daughter-in-law. Blessedly Hector's girls are the daughters of his first wife. Poor thing passed a couple of years ago. But enough about me and my family," he said swiftly. "Why don't you tell me how you found yourself in the company of my old friend."

"He has been helping me with discovering my roots," Hermione calmly replied. "I learned at the beginning of the summer that I've been given up for adoption."

"Curious," hummed Greengrass as he leaned back in his chair just as the waitresses arrived with their tea and apple pie. "Thank you," he said to her. "And how has that quest been going?" he asked as he turned back to Hermione.

"Not without difficulties," answered Hermione. "My biological mother was determined to keep her identity hidden."

"If she was a pureblood, and I'm guessing that she was, and most likely still is, I would be very surprised if she wasn't," commented Greengrass pensively.

"Why do you think so?" asked Hermione curiously.

"Pureblood culture," replied Greengrass with a small shrug. "Marriage is a sanctity that's supposed to produce future generations. That's why it's reserved to heterosexual couples and divorces are scarce. They still happen though, both divorces and known same sex unions, but first are very frowned upon and the latter are treated as a passing fancy of the parties involved. No idea why, there's more sanctity, love and mutual respect in my daughter's union with her beloved than in her brother's marriage to that Pink harlot. But that's what you get for marrying out of convenience rather than love."

"I thought that the majority of marriages between purebloods were marriages of convenience," admitted Hermione.

"I'm not negating that they aren't quite popular, especially between very conservative purebloods, or families on the verge of extinction. But ultimately more people marry out of love rather than convenience, and even then, the majority of the marriages of convenience are founded on the basis of mutual respect and matching opinions on life, or at the very least temperaments. Unless you have been touched in the head when you decided to marry someone, like my poor son had been when he married that Pink harlot. Ultimately that's his problem," he explained.

"But it bothers you," Hermione pointed out.

"It does and I shouldn't be telling you that because one shouldn't air their dirty laundry in public, and especially in the presence of youngsters," said Greengrass with a grimace. He shook his head slightly and huffed before he continued, "But since your quest most likely will involve shifting through a lot of dirty laundry, and I already decided that for everyone's sake I should get myself involved, I can tell you what's been bothering me."

"You called her a harlot," said Hermione.

"And what do you call a woman who marries one man but keeps a carnal relationship with another?" asked Greengrass pointedly. "On top of that, she's careless enough to not care about carrying her lover's bastards. She's been trying her best to convince everyone that the boys she recently gave birth to are my son's. Thing is, that a healer whose opinion I can trust assured me and my other son that the twins had been carried to the whole term. The problem is that my poor idiot son hadn't been in the country at the time they were conceived, not for two months prior to the most likely date of the conception and two months after."

"That's definitely a problem," nodded Hermione.

"Then there's her behaviour which reflects rather poorly on my son and the upbringing of his daughters. Astoria is terrified of her, which doesn't do anything good to her already fragile health. And don't even start me on Daphne, she's a smart girl, just like her mother had been, but too much of a conformist like her father. And not even for her own sake, rather that of her sister, because if she had been on her own…" said Greengrass with a small huff. "Well, if she had been on her own my poor son wouldn't have to remarry as fast as he did and Daphne would make sure that no harlot would have dug her claws into him."

"So what you're planning to do?" asked Hermione curiously. "Unless it's a secret."

"It's not a secret but I would beg you to not advertise it," replied Greengrass. "First, I need to remove my granddaughters from the care of their step-mother. Second, I need to get to my son before she will. Third, if I fail to do so, I will have to threaten with disinheriting him if he stays with her. Luckily for me, he loves his daughters more than he loves or cares for his wife, so that shouldn't be a problem. The problem starts with what to do with that harlot after. Divorce would reflect poorly on our family, but ultimately would be better than bringing up the pair of bastards."

"Because they would be a shame to the family," said Hermione with a grimace. "Like me."

"The thing about bastard children is that there are a bastard children which one shouldn't be ashamed of. A category to which someone like you belong. And then there are bastards like my supposed grandsons. If I hadn't been aware of the identity of the man who most likely fathered them, I would not have allowed that farce of marriage to continue. But the boys aren't just bastards, they're the effect of the vilest of carnal unions one can possibly imagine," retorted Greengrass.

"Incest?" asked Hermione with a grimace.

"Her brother," spat Greengrass. "Or her cousin. Either of these two. Either way I won't have the family name besmirched by their presence in it. Her father can sort his children out if he wishes so."

"Does it happen often?" asked Hermione, still grimacing.

"More often than not amongst very conservative purebloods but usually not at that level of family relations. Second or third cousins, more often fourth. But that's what you get for trying to maintain a pureblood lineage. My forefathers had been quite adamant of ensuring that no marriage should happen between closer relations than fifth cousins. Which made looking for a wife rather difficult for a lot of us, but with a lot of travelling and marrying second generation half-bloods we managed to get by."

Just as he finished saying that, a rather furious looking Arcturus appeared.

"Damocles," he said tetchily.

"Lazarus," said Greengrass in mock surprise. "My dear old friend, how have you been?"

"You know perfectly well how I have been for the last couple of minutes you old fox," replied Arcturus as he pulled away the chair between Greengrass and Hermione and sat down. "And you knew," he added with a huff.

"Of course I knew," replied Greengrass simply. "Russ, before you decided to fade into obscurity I knew you for seventy years. I shared school desks with you as well as mischiefs and tedious daily tasks. We shared classes and notes at the institute. I helped you with that ponce of an almost husband of your dear wife. I was your best man, you were mine and a couple of times at that. You godfathered my eldest just as I did with yours," he added in a tone that sounded very much as if he was chiding a temperamental child. "I know better than anyone that you're a drama queen and if you really had been dead your funeral would have been the greatest fuck you to the majority of your relatives in the history of fuck yous instead of the farce it was."

"I should have known," snorted Arcturus.

"Yes, you should have," agreed Greengrass. "Now be a good boy and tell Uncle Mock why you decided to stop playing dead."

"You know perfectly well why," replied Arcturus.

"Sirius?" asked Greengrass pensively.

Arcturus nodded quickly.

"What about him?" asked Greengrass curiously.

And so Arcturus finally answered. He talked for a long time, about Dumbledore's conspiracy to keep Sirius away from Harry. About Mad-Eye Moody who threatened him with an abrupt end of Sirius' life if Arcturus continued to try and free Sirius on his own. Here and there Greengrass asked for pointers and clarification but for most of the time he stayed quiet and listened intently.

"I won't lie to you," he said finally. "The boy is in big trouble, and so will anyone who dare to go against Dumbledore. Especially with that moron, Fudge staying in Malfoy's pocket. Malfoy has convinced everyone and their uncle that his progeny stands to inherit the Black family fortune."

"Even if Sirius died without completing the accession, Malfoy would have never seen a knut from the Black family fortune," replied Arcturus and he snorted. "Ultimately the choice was mine to make, and I elected a different heir in his stead, or if anything happened to him."

"Let me guess…" started Greengrass pensively. "That godson of his? Because that's the biggest fuck you Malfoy that comes to my mind."

"How did you know?" asked Arcturus innocently.

"I know you and your feelings towards the Headmaster," replied Greengrass simply.

"Speaking of which," muttered Arcturus. "I know where I stand and I know that I have nothing to lose…"

"… but everything to gain," finished Greengrass. "I'm not going to sugar coat it. I'm no longer the head of the Greengrass family, Hyperion is, and if he chooses to not play a part in it…"

"Then neither will you," Arcturus interrupted him with a heavy sigh.

"That's not what I was going to say, you old fart," Greengrass chided him. "What I wanted to say is that if Hyperion decides that the Greengrasses will play no part in it, I will still support you, old friend. It just will be harder than with Perry on board."

"Thank you," Arcturus whispered.

"Do not thank me yet, it's unwise to count one's basilisks before they hatch," commented Greengrass. "Now tell me more about how you acquainted yourself with Ms Granger. I'm sure that it's a fascinating story and one that would brighten my spirit."

Ultimately, Arcturus didn't reveal much about Hermione. He completely failed to mention her relation to Snape, but he did admit that she was the niece of Sirius' fiancée. He said nothing on the subject of Horcruxes. And because, as Hermione learned, they were very old friends, at some point their discussion morphed into reminiscence of old times. She also learned that Greengrass was the one who convinced Arcturus to drink a bucket of the horse piss that was supposedly French wine.

All in all the morning had ended with both Arcturus and Hermione in high spirits, and then after lunch a letter from Harry arrived.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next:** The Greengrass family moot.


	10. Chapter 10 - Green is the Grass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Greengrasses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word count: About 4100.
> 
> **Author's note:** I had great fun writing this one. Next chapter will also be devoted to the Greengrasses but in chapter 12 we will return to Harry & Company.
> 
> **Next chapter will be posted on Tuesday 23rd March 2021.**
> 
> **Beta read by Regnbuen (Nitraz).**
> 
> _I hope that You will find this story enjoyable. I would be the most grateful for constructive criticism._

_Having a place to go - is a home._

_Having someone to love - is a family._

_Having both - is a blessing._

_~Donna Hedges_

**Secrets & Keepers – Entropy**

**Chapter ten: Green is the Grass.**

Hyperion Greengrass was the oldest son of Damocles Greengrass and Antoinette Avenant, and the only one of his siblings born without a twin. If one wished to argue about it, he wasn't technically the firstborn son, but the subject of his father's first wife and their unborn child was one that the Greengrasses avoided to address unless it was the anniversary of their demise. His father preferred it that way. He also acted the same way when Hyperion, Hector and Hecate's mother Antoinette passed away when the twins were seven years old. At the very least her death didn't turn him into dragon's rights activist. Not that their mother's death hadn't left the young Greengrasses rattled, as it happened right before their very eyes. They all mourned her death deeply and it had been Hyperion who convinced his father that he was still young enough to remarry, if not in order to gain a companion then at the very least to ensure that his younger siblings had a female role model.

Marigold Macmillan was a young distant cousin of the wife of his father's dearest friend. She was respectful of her place in the family and in their hearts, she never tried to replace their mother but she quickly became a dear and trusted friend to their father and in a way, to them. She also gave him another pair of twins, two hellions by the names of Perseus and Persephone. She was the one whom Hyperion and Eleanor's oldest sons called grandma, and the one to whom Eleanor had went for advice when she and Hyperion were at odds, which didn't happen often.

At the age of fifty-two Hyperion had two adult sons: Alexander, 21, current student of Institut de Droit Magique de Paris and future head of the Greengrass family, and Marius, 19, young painter that harried of to Rome faster than the ink on his NEWTs results had dried. He and Eleanor also had three younger ones that had been born after Marigold's death in 1986: Martin, seven year old and obsessed with racing brooms; Apollo, a four year old tone-deaf, aspiring pianist that was just learning how to make his musical efforts kinder to his listener ears, and a one year old aspiring climber called Remus.

Hyperion had also been the head of the Greengrass family for the least seven years, from the moment of Marigold's passing. And it wasn't that his father hadn't been politically involved after she died. He just lost his heart for it for a couple of years, and after he recovered from the worst of the grief, he found himself liking the freedom. Not that Hyperion minded, between himself and his siblings their father had a lot of grandchildren to look after. Not that he did a lot of minding, he was a doting grandfather but one that didn't try to undermine the efforts of the parents to rear their children.

Well, until Hector's bad decision that had been marrying Guinevere Goyle, that bloody harlot of the Pink descend. Then came the other, which was abandoning his young, rather attractive and very bored wife for the sake of looking for the cure for Astoria's malediction. Not that Hyperion wouldn't have done the same in his brother's place, he just wouldn't have gotten remarried in the first place.

The Goyle problem occupied Hyperion and his father ever since Eleanor's trusted healer had taken a good look at the twins and commented that they looked absurdly healthy for a pair of premature babies.

So when after dinner his father requested a private meeting with him, Hyperion was certain that he knew the subject of their upcoming discussion. He bid his older boys good night, kissed little Remus soundly and his wife as passionately as he dared to do in his father's company, before he called for his manservant, Legolas to have a glass of brandy prepared for them in his study.

"So have you decided what we should do with the harlot?" asked Hyperion curiously once they both had settled in the armchairs before the fire.

"Oh, that," Dad sighed distractedly. "I figured that one out ages ago. The most important is bringing the girls to the manor but keeping Vere at home. I thought about inviting Thomas's younger sister, Tracy. She and Daphne are good friends and Vere wouldn't put a foot inside the manor if Tracy would be there. The problem would be getting to Hector before Vere does, but he loves his girls more than he loves his wife so if you sufficiently threaten him even if Vere will manage to dig her claws into him he would be amenable to at the very least listen to the plan."

"But that's not the reason why you asked for a private meeting with me," Hyperion pointed out, slowly, to appear pensive.

"No," confirmed Dad. "It's something more up your professional alley rather than personal."

"I'm all ears then," said Hyperion in an attempt to encourage him.

"That's exactly what has me worried, you know," said Dad with a soft snort. "You know that I love you, Perry," he added after a moment. "And that I respect your decisions even if I don't always agree with them?"

Hyperion's left eyebrow quirked slightly at that. They were both old, too old for vocal expressions of love, just as much as very old terms of endearments. Not that for a single minute Hyperion ever doubted that he was loved by his parents, him and the rest of his siblings. But it wasn't just something that men their age did, so he found himself sufficiently alarmed by his father's admission.

"Are you dying Dad?" he asked in concern. "Have you seen a healer?"

"Merlin, no!" protested Dad. "What are you going on about?" he asked quickly and after a moment he mumbled. "Oh. The last time we had this talk Marigold just passed away."

"Yes," confirmed Hyperion. "What's going on, Dad?"

Dad reached for his glass, took a small sip and placed it back on the table before he cleared his throat and said, "First, allow me to express that I'm not suffering any sort of malady or disease other than my advancing age. Second, I plan to at the very least see your grandchildren and with a little bit of luck, great-grandchildren. Third, the reason why I might seem apprehensive about breeching the subject is because if you decide to get involved you might put the entire family at risk."

"At risk of what?" asked Hyperion.

"Attracting attention of a very powerful man and a very dangerous enemy," replied Dad grimly.

"The Dark Lord is dead," Hyperion pointed out, he wasn't the fan of either the bugger's own moniker or the ones given to him by the wizarding public.

"I'm not talking about him," said Dad with a grimace. "I'm talking about Dumbledore."

That was surprising. Hyperion was aware of his father's feelings towards the Headmaster, and had his own, not very high opinion about the man as someone who dealt with him on semi-regular basis. He was quite relieved to see him removed from the position, not that it lasted for long. Minerva McGonagall was much more pleasant and easier to deal with.

"Carry on," Hyperion prompted him. "I know that if I say no, you will at the very least wipe my memory of this conversation."

"That's another thing that's causing me not a smaller level of apprehension," sighed Dad. "I really respect you, Perry."

"As do I," said Hyperion sincerely. "Now stop acting like a lovesick teenager and cough up what's been bothering you."

"Sirius," mumbled Dad, so softly that Hyperion barely heard him.

"Sirius?" asked Hyperion. "As in Sirius Black? The first man known to escape an inescapable wizarding prison Sirius Black? That Sirius Black?"

"No, his great-grandfather, I recently had a nice talk with his portrait," replied Dad with a huff. "Of course I mean that Sirius Black. You know, the one that planned to marry your lesbian sister," he added quickly.

"What about Sirius Black?" sighed Hyperion.

And so he had been told. Everything it seemed. And a lot of it had been very disturbing. Not that he had an easy time trying to get past the image of Black as the Dark Lord's right hand and a mass-murderer. But he was a bloody lawyer and he defended scumbags for a living, though to be fair he tried his best to avoid taking murder cases when the fault of his client was evident or at the very least hard to justify. Not that murder should be justified, but there were certain cases, always had been, when the murderer in Hyperion's private opinion, had been punished enough by suffering through years of abuse.

But this case, the bloody conspiracy to imprison a supposedly innocent man rattled him. It rattled him because he knew Sirius, maybe not as well as his youngest siblings but he knew him. He talked with him and he remembered him as a quick-witted lad with views very similar to his own.

He also remembered him as an adult, Auror and a bloody good one at that, very effective if a bit too rogue for his liking. He was sufficient and thorough with paperwork, a great witness on the stand and a man of his word. Most people would have shrugged off a delay and said they were sorry if something didn't arrive on time, but not Sirius. If Sirius Black promised that he would bring a report on a particular date, then he would bring that bloody report at midnight at the latest.

That dreadful fall of 1981 neither Hyperion nor his father had been working at the firm. In early October, Eleanor had lost her pregnancy and nearly died, it had taken her many months to recover physically, and many more to even dare having another child. So the mess that was Sirius Black's trial, or the apparent lack of it, had passed them by, and by the time Hyperion returned to work there were other people to defend, other cases, other people's problems.

And Sirius Black had become nothing but an unpleasant memory.

Charming Perpetua Spellman into leaving him alone in the evidence archives had been disgustingly easy. And if he hadn't used her short attention span in the past and planned to continue doing so for years to come, he would have ratted her out to her superiors. Once he was certain that she would be gone for long enough to sneak further into the archives, past the evidence box he supposedly needed, he wasted no time in getting what he needed.

He made copies of every statement, every photograph, made notes on what was lacking from the box, and by the time Spellman was back from her trip to get proper tea, he was engrossed in the contents of his decoy box. He made sure to waste a couple minutes more in there before he returned home.

He abhorred bringing work home, but if his own gut and Dad was right, it wasn't a case that he could keep at the office. Not that he didn't trust him employees. They were good workers and terrific lawyers, but too many of them had been more or less staunch supporters of the Headmaster.

And by the time he was done with the evidence he issued an elf to each of his siblings and his oldest son. Not that he expected Lorelai to find Hector any time soon, but at the very least he had to try. Each elf carried a letter meant only for the eyes of the recipient for the gathering of all of the Greengrasses.

"You could at least have invited us to dinner," commented Hecate with a huff once she stepped out of the fireplace. "Or at the very least allowed me to bring the kids."

"To let Elijah eat his way through the kitchen?" he quipped. "Emmeline is still twitching at the very mention of his name, and I happen to like her cooking. No, Cate, your progeny won't be causing any distress to my house-elves this time."

"I told you that it was a bloody prank, Perry," she retorted. "And don't call me Cate, it's bad enough that that cheating scumbag left me for that tone-deaf pianist. As my brother at the very least you could do me the courtesy of not using that old pet name which also happens to be the name of that bloody harlot."

"So what should I call you?" he asked with a smirk. "Heca?"

"I have a perfectly nice full name. Hecate I was baptised and that's how I would like to be addressed, Hyperion Alexander Greengrass," she said briskly.

"Okay, Hecate," he said dryly. "Now budge over because your sister is coming through."

Cora, never Persephone with the exception of official documents, had fallen out of the fireplace with her usual grace, straight into his arms.

"Brother mine," she greeted him exuberantly as she hugged him tightly.

"How has Moscow been treating you?" he asked curiously.

"Bad enough to reconsider accepting another contract," she replied as she stepped back and to the side. "Lovely people, Russians, government horrible, and their stance on people like me…" she grimaced. "Mia and I have been thinking about spending next year or two back on English soil. We aren't getting any younger, kids are growing and I would love to be the cool lesbian aunt for a little while longer before I become the old, cool lesbian aunt."

"Well I'm sure that I could find a broom closet for you two to use," he said dryly.

"Git," she quipped. "What happened to that charming little guest house by the river?"

"Nothing," he replied. "Well, Uriel needs to clean it, but he has been preparing that old villa in Greece for sale, and you know him, he's always dissatisfied. He would be offended if I had given that job to any other elf."

"Then I will be fine with a broom closet," said Cora happily. "Sister mine," she exclaimed happily as she turned to Hecate.

"Oh, I missed you too, you perky lesbian," replied Hecate dryly when Cora threw herself into her arms.

They got away from the fireplace for Hyperion to hear only bits and pieces of their conversation about Mia's work in restoration of instruments.

The next guest that stepped out from the fireplace wasn't his younger brother, but Thomas Davies, Percy's boyfriend, although they were both at the age when partner suited them better.

"Hyperion," Thomas greeted him with a big smile.

"Thomas," replied Hyperion with an answering smile as he shook his hand.

"I will just greet my sisters and I will be off. Do you think that Eleanor would mind not keeping her company?" he asked as he started walking away.

"No, she wouldn't mind," said Eleanor. "Come on, Tommy, I got the suite ready for you two and Viola is drawing a bath."

"I love you, Ellie," said Thomas in relief. "That bloody spell has been messing up my sleeping schedule," he added, and turning towards Hyperion, said. "Good luck with keeping Percy awake though."

In the meantime, Percy stepped out of the fireplace, with far more grace than his sister and a massive yawn.

"Brother mine," he sighed when he finished yawning, reaching for a one armed hug. "Please tell me you've got coffee."

"Help yourself, you Tibetan vampire," said Hyperion as he gestured towards the coffee table.

For the couple of minutes that it had taken Eleanor to lead Thomas out of the room and to the guest suite, they argued as they always had. Dryly but without malice, occasionally shrieking over each other.

He was so distracted by the sight of them that he hadn't realised that Alex stepped out of the fireplace until he found himself being poked in the shoulder.

"Old age catching up with you, Dad?" asked Alex dryly.

"You will understand once you reach my age," answered Hyperion as he turned to hug his son. "Welcome home, Alex."

"It's good to be there but it's great to be back," said Alex. "I'm just surprised by the secrecy."

"You will understand soon enough," Hyperion assured him. "Go, greet your aunts and uncles. I'm still waiting for that vagabond."

"You should have said so," Hecate called out. "He isn't coming. He has been loitering around that Australian rock which name I can't remember. Told me that he won't be reachable for a couple of weeks at the least."

"Great," snorted Hyperion. "Pity that he failed to mention that to me."

"Well, you know him," said Hecate simply. "Being hurried distracts him, and he has been counting on twins being born a little later. Didn't Eleanor said that they were fine though?" she asked curiously.

"Perfectly fine," said Hyperion, almost through gritted teeth. "That's another thing that I would like to talk with you about."

"You summoned us to the family meeting what could you possibly want to talk about if not family?" asked Cora curiously.

Just as she said that, Dad stepped into the room, with a surprised Eleanor and yawning Thomas trailing after him. Hyperion looked from his father to his wife which gave him a small smile and a shrug before tugging a yawning Thomas to the coffee table where she greeted her oldest son.

In the time it had taken his siblings to realise that those that previously left the room had returned into it, Hyperion crossed the room and whispered to Dad as he was locking and warding the door, "Are you certain, Dad?"

"It's their family too, Perry. They deserve to know," Dad pointed out softly.

"I'm not negating that," replied Hyperion. "It's just…" he mumbled.

"You wanted to be certain where your siblings stood on it," finished Dad.

"Daddy!" exclaimed Cora.

Hyperion turned from the door just in time for Dad to get mobbed by Cora and to a lesser degree Percy. Dad saw Hecate and her children often enough for their greeting to be less exuberant but still fond.

Distribution of coffee, much needed in Percy, who was on his second cup already, and Thomas's case, had taken a couple of minutes, but soon enough Hyperion found himself at the receiving end of his family's gazes.

So he finished taking his sip of coffee, placed the cup back on the coffee table, cleared his throat and started talking. Quite predictably at the mention of Sirius's name Hecate started shaking her head and by the time he reached the description on how it was Peter Pettigrew that had been responsible for the mass-murder that until now had been attributed to Sirius, Cora's left hand fled to her mouth and stayed there.

Eleanor and Alex, at first wary, had soon been nodding and whispering between each other just like Percy and Thomas had.

Finally, when he was done talking, he reached for his coffee and took a big sip of it.

"What are you planning to do about it?" asked Hecate stiffly.

"I'm a lawyer," said Hyperion calmly. "And this man has been put in Azkaban without a trial, and for a crime that he didn't commit. What do you think my work ethic requires of me, Hecate?"

"Just to be in the clear," interjected Dad. "Even if your bother hadn't been on board with the idea, I would have taken his case."

"Why?" pressed Hecate.

"Because I'm a Greengrass, my dear," said Dad calmly. "I'm a man of honour, that was how I've been raised by my parents and that was how I tried my best to raise you all. Arcturus Black has for many years been my steadfast friend and comrade, I could count on him when I had no support in my own family, or no family to speak of. And I will honour his request if nothing else than for old times sake."

"Isn't he supposed to be dead?" said Alex pensively. "I distinctly remember reading his death notice."

"Me too," said Hecate pointedly. "Dad?" she turned to Dad. "Have you been seeing dead people?"

"Well, one of them interrupted my breakfast yesterday," said Dad innocently. "Got him back for that rather nicely I think. Befriended his charge, lovely girl, very direct."

"How can you be sure that they were both real?" asked Hecate suspiciously.

"Because your niece knows her from school, my dear, and she's been talking with him the same way I'm talking to you now," replied Dad. "So Greengrasses? What do you think?"

"I think that it will blow up in our faces and that we shouldn't get involved," said Hecate quickly. "I don't know about you but I have children to bring up, children that are going to that school."

"How can you say that?" protested Cora. "An innocent man rotted in a high-security cell of Azkaban for nearly twelve years!"

"That doesn't mean that we should get involved," retorted Hecate with a huff. "Especially in a conspiracy that has Dumbledore, Fudge and blood Malfoy in it."

"Bloody Malfoy is quite easy to get rid of," Alex mussed at loud.

"Maybe with a cannonball," snorted Hecate.

"I'm being serious," said Alex simply. "There's a Malfoy in my class, a French one, some very distant cousin to Victorie Malfoy, that absurdly wealthy widow that Lucius had been courting for ages for a portion of her wealth."

"I know her," said Cora pensively. "She's obsessed with some supposedly lost wizarding culture from the area of the Pacific islands."

"So if someone suggested to her that they know where to find some missing artefact that can only be obtained by say a powerful and worthy man…" Eleanor started slowly.

"She would start looking for such amongst her relatives," finished Alex dryly. "French Malfoys these days are like Weasleys, lots of missed potential and menial jobs. Lucius would be in for the win."

"That's Lucius," muttered Hecate. "What about Fudge?"

"If you remove one crutch from the scene then it would be easy to slip in the replacement," said Dad simply.

"But who would do that?" asked Percy pensively.

"Your dear old dad," said Dad swiftly. "And I'm planning to drag Lazarus out of his hiding place once the legal situation of his grandson will no longer be a problem."

"What about Dumbledore though?" asked Thomas. "He's too big to be removed easily."

"Luckily for me I know someone who has as many issues with his headmastering as I do," answered Hyperion. "Edgar Macmillan, Robert Bones, Amos Diggory, that what's his face MacLaggen and if the worst comes to worst Nott."

"Nott was a known Death Eater," Thomas pointed out sourly.

"Twelve years ago," said Percy pensively. "Twelve years ago Nott had a family to spare and now he only has that nephew of his, Theodore I think."

"So if someone leaned on him quite heavily and made him see that what's the best for his family is neither with the Death Eaters nor with Dumbledore's supporters," said Hecate slowly. "That might actually work."

"What about Sirius?" asked Cora.

"And who do you think would do the leaning?" asked Hecate pointedly. "Black has been screwed over by the Dumbledore fair and square. He also hunted Death Eaters with the ferocity of a pissed off nundu. He might not be on board with leaning on Nott, but if someone, say his childhood friends, convinced him that getting that old fart on board would sufficiently shift the power in the Wizengamot towards the centre…"

"Aren't you getting a bit too far ahead, sister mine?" asked Hyperion dryly. "Sirius Black is still a wanted man."

"Then what are you waiting for, Perry," said Hecate.

"Your unanimous su…" started Hyperion but he barely managed finished saying unanimous when all hands shot up in the air. "And I really need to talk with Lazarus, Dad."

"As do I," muttered Hecate.

"Why?" asked Dad sceptically.

"I'm just curious," said Hecate innocently.

"Last time I checked his wife was still alive, my dear," said Dad dryly.

"Wait a minute," interjected Cora. "What about that sister-in-law of ours?"

"Oh that," sighed Hyperion.

The discussion concerning Guinevere Greengrass (hopefully for not much longer) had taken them the rest of the night and didn't bear repeating.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next:** The Greengrass family business.


End file.
